All Too Human
by Crowley-is-King
Summary: Team Free Will is dragged into conflict between God's hitman and a prisoner of Heaven. Castiel's brother sends a demon to break him while Dean faces the thought of losing his family. Alliances are made, everyone is taking damage, and the Winchesters again find themselves in the middle of Angel Family Feud.
1. Weirdos with Wings

Dean was barely settled under threadbare sheets, the side of his neck without a bandage resting against a lumpy pillow whose case couldn't have had a thread count over 100, when his night replayed itself in gratuitous slow motion. His evening of vamp hunting with Sammy had gone awry. The pair they'd been charming away from a potential kill had led them to a nest of over a dozen cold bodies who probably would've been bragging to their bloodsucking pals about drinking Winchester blood by now if Cas hadn't shown up; rerouting it back to a victory had required Dean to allow vampire teeth and blood-tainted breath too close to his thankfully intact carotid artery for comfort. Mondays...

With the moderately-sized nest satisfactorily ganked and Dean stitched and medicated for the night, Sam had dutifully driven from their 'affordable' (read: cheap-ass) motel to pick up the pie and beer that his older brother had demanded to make up for his role as bait. Dean could feel a pinprick where each tooth had pierced his skin, and sighed as loudly as he could in the empty motel room, wondering when Cas would be back. The angel had zapped in to the fight to impale the vampire who'd been keen on having a bite of Dean, only to poof back away from the Winchesters as soon as it was clear that Dean had things under control. He would have cursed his friend under his breath for not healing him first, but he chalked it up as his own fault for getting snippy with the winged nerd earlier that day.

"Sorry Cas, but you're not coming," Dean had announced at breakfast, his voice gravelly but level. Sam looked up from his half-eaten pancakes, raising his eyebrows at his elder brother. The motion of leaving Castiel out of the hunt hadn't been run by the more sensible Winchester, and he waited in silence for an explanation. Cas wasn't low on mojo; he wasn't injured, or human, or batshit crazy. There was no good reason to leave the able-bodied fighter out of what Dean liked to call 'the party,' and he'd saved the day more times than Sam cared to admit. At his brother's silent objection Dean snapped something about Cas being pretty much broken and stalked out of the kitchen without making so much as a dent in the sausage and eggs that the angel he was ignoring had delivered.

Dean hadn't responded to Sam's heckling about the harsh words all day, noting that Cas had disappeared before he'd returned to apologize, and he still hadn't had a chance to speak with the angel, unless a choked, "Help," from under the mass of an overweight vampire counted.

He knew he owed his life to the angel, but that didn't make it any less damned hard to say it to the man's face. Since he'd been human, Cas had shown sadness, regret, intuition, fear, restraint, courage and compassion, but it was only weakness that concerned Dean. The former demon-ganking machine had become part of the Winchester family, weighted down with all the curses and dangers that came with the name, and that scared Dean. He'd lost enough, too much, since even before he knew monsters were real, and he'd already managed to lose Sam and Cas several times. Sure, they'd made it back, safe, sound, and eventually intact again, but one day soon his luck was going to run out and he wouldn't have some angel or demon looking over his shoulder, ready to haul his brother and partner back to the world of the living.

'So you'll endanger Sammy, but not Cas?' his mind suggested when he was done rationalizing his behavior. 'No.' It wasn't endangerment with Sam; he was adjusted to Dean's cockiness, his own vices and both brothers' past mistakes. Castiel was like a third grader who'd just learned that Santa was a lie (and half the people in the world probably wanted him dead.) He was overcompensating for his former lack of empathy by being far too human.

On their last hunt three days before, Cas had been 'merciful'- not in the old, holier-than-thou, God-complex sense that Dean had come to expect from winged dirtbags but in a sincere, almost stupid way that had gotten the angel stabbed. Had the knife-of-choice been anything but a plain switchblade, Castiel could have bought the farm right then and there because a woman who happened to be a shapeshifter begged for her life before trying to gut him.

Okay, maybe Dean was a little more pissed than he had any right to be, but Cas _had_ to grow feelings that most hunters learned to ignore or cut off entirely. The discontented hunter shifted, clenching his jaw at the unholy creaking of his bedframe, and pulled the navy bedsheets over his shoulder, finally closing his heavy eyes.

He'd barely dozed off when a loud rustling behind his back jarred him awake again. Any other sound would have had the man leaping up, the gun under his pillow in his grip, but he knew the sound of the angel's arrival. "What is it, Cas? Can't sleep?" he joked, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Blue eyes bored into him from behind a pair of hipster glasses- they were too light, not blue enough... not Cas.

In an instant Dean was on his feet, wishing Sam hadn't taken their only current angel knife on his pie run. "Who is it this time? Heaven's favorite magician?" he snapped, scanning the intruder who only frowned in return. It was very much not Cas- the woman looked to be in her 20s and was probably only 5'2. Her wrinkled white dress shirt was fully buttoned beneath a purple and black striped tuxedo vest and violet tie, and her slacks were rolled up at the ankles sloppily; Dean wasn't sure whether that was a good sign- usually women who wanted to kill him wore a lot less, but when angels dressed up they tended to be planning more along the lines of torture or erasing him from existence. Since neither one of them seemed to have a reason to attack, Dean spared a glance for her shoes. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but tennis shoes with velcro had not been it. At least the outfit didn't bring back memories of any of his previous encounters with the less friendly of Cas' relatives.

He didn't recognize the vessel either; curly brown bangs swept down the left side of her face, almost grazing one blue-green eye, but everywhere else her hair was cropped short enough that it curled lazily along her head. If she'd been wearing makeup the style might have looked professional, but with her smattering of freckles, chapped lips and a slowly disappearing bruise on her left cheekbone she just seemed disheveled. Maybe it was a new vessel and she hadn't worked out the bells and whistles yet, or maybe she'd just been in a brawl, but either way Dean didn't like the way she was looking at him.

The woman had studied him silently, like she was appraising a tentative purchase, before making eye contact. Her sea-colored stare would have cowed someone less stubborn, but Dean was the crown prince of defiance and frowned right back at the angel.

When a small pair of red wings appeared in shadow behind the brunette, Dean rolled his eyes. "Want me to get a ruler?" he sighed, "Yours are bigger, I get it, what do you want?" He'd lowered his gun when nothing sharp was pointed at him, and as much as he liked not fighting to the death he was growing impatient of the staring match. The angel took off her glasses, wiping the lenses on the edge of her vest, and the projection of her wings dissolved. "I have a message for Castiel," she finally conceded. Dean's grip on his pistol tightened as he held his breath that another set of God's interns didn't have it out for Cas.

"Well he's out on business so I'll take a note," Dean replied firmly. "And if this concerns killing and/or torturing him you can hit the road before I have to flambe you with holy oil." He wasn't going to invite her to stay until the angel he'd rather be arguing with popped back up from wherever he kept going after their hunts, even if he didn't actually have any holy oil at the moment.

"You're Dean Winchester..."

The angel's blue-green eyes lit up with recognition. Something in her frown told Dean that she knew about his family's relationship with her brother, and he got the feeling he wasn't about to be praised for his looks or as a good influence on the rebellious Cas.

The angel didn't insult him, though it looked as though she was itching to. "Tell Castiel that Adriel is free," she instructed, over-enunciating the words as though she were talking to a five year old. Before Dean could ask if that was good news or another for the Cas haters club, the messenger had disappeared, leaving him alone with his itching neck and the thought that he'd made an enemy of yet another angel who might have healed him.

When Sam showed up ten minutes later with a six pack and a clamshell box of blueberry-filled goodness, Dean was affixed in front of the tv, blaring an episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D. in the background of his google hunt for information on Adriel. "There's like nothing here," Dean complained, shoveling what should have been two separate bites of pie into his mouth. When he'd swallowed and heaved a sigh at the throbbing in his throat, he repeated the fashion-inept angel's message.

"Adriel is free," Sam echoed, shaking his head as he typed a few keywords into the search bar. "As far as I know he wasn't a significant player in heaven. I mean, on wikipedia he's listed as one of the angels of destruction, but there's not exactly a lot about him to confirm that." After a pause that Dean occupied with more pie, his brother clicked on a link in the police records they'd been skimming cases from and raised his eyebrows. "Listen to this," he muttered, intrigued, "Until five days ago, no flags up about an Adriel. Sure, maybe he's the namesake for a couple of people who got into gang violence but that's years apart... But come Wednesday somebody with that name is cited in two car crashes.

" Different last names, different states, but both described as driving rental cars that got plowed. Then Friday another one. All of the reports list that he's not even the at-fault driver, but he is the only survivor in all three accidents and he disappeared less than an hour after, having given false or no insurance information."

Dean gave his brother an impressed, if confused, look and cut another chunk from his dwindling slice of pie. "So we've either got the patron saint of car crashes, the unluckiest angel in the world or a winged serial killer who likes to play hot wheels with the life-sized models," he observed, shaking his head. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that the chatterbox wasn't trying to tell Cas to throw a welcome party for the guy..."


	2. What We Always Do

8:07 am saw a barely-rested Dean roused from his four hour power-nap on the ragged motel couch by the sound of wings. Either the angel version of Top Cat was back for another round of holy telephone, Cas was home, or their probably murderous brother was in. The hunter prayed it was the second as he stumbled up from his makeshift bed, ready to make a grab for the angel knife on the table. A hand settled warmly on his shoulder, and Dean relaxed visibly, blinking the sleep from his bleary eyes. "Mornin', Cas," he greeted, too relieved by the angel's presence to complain about the personal space he was invading.

"Good morning Dean," the low voice of his friend returned automatically. Dean couldn't help but wonder if Cas even considered whether his morning was good. Before he could ask, Cas spoke again, blue eyes fixed sternly on the hunter. "We need to find an angel."

"Uh huh... is this like, 'we need information so let's kidnap some sorry sonofabitch,' or one specific guy we gotta track?" Dean yawned, heading to the other side of the room where there should have been a coffee maker. At the bare, short counter he cursed and grumbled, "What kinda motel has cable but no coffee?" When he turned to forage through the equally squat and barren refrigerator for something with caffeine or sugar, Cas was directly behind him, his stare severe. "Dean, we need to find him. People are dying who have no business doing so, and their souls are not being collected by reapers."

Dean physically guided Castiel back a step to reclaim a semblance of boundary between his personal space and the angel's hovering, raising his eyebrows at Cas like he would a puppy who was learning to stay put. He retrieved a half-glass of questionably sanitary water to take his morning painkillers with when there proved to be nothing worth eating in the tiny kitchen. "So this is like those demon-deals where the guy got impatient and started staging accidents."

The word reminded him of his night's research, but before he could speak Castiel peeled the bandage from his bite wound and healed it, confiscating the ibuprofen he'd been about to take. "You shouldn't have anything in your system when we go after him... And yes, it's quite similar, although I would hope an angel wouldn't stoop to helping a demon- It only leads to death on all sides." Dean knew Cas was referring to Crowley and the carnage brought about by the Leviathan, and decided he had to break the angel from his thoughts before he slipped into a bout of self-loathing.

"Speaking of, you know an Adriel?" he asked, furrowing his brow at the name, "we got an Angelgram to tell you he was 'free.'" Dean was almost certain it wasn't a good scenario from the list of incidents tacked with the angel's name, but Castiel's opinion would make a difference if he said the guy was an upstanding citizen.

Cas had stiffened visibly at mention of his brother's name. "Adriel should not have been released," he muttered simply, looking up at Dean with something akin to desperation. "During the fall, he took advantage of the tension between factions and murdered fifty three angels in an attempt to incite war. He was finally captured and held two months ago. With my help." Cas' eyes were downcast, as though he were ashamed of his involvement, and Dean understood why.

Two months before, Cas had disappeared in the middle of a demon hunt; the same day, Sam was almost killed by said demons, and Dean had been cold to the angel for a week following. "If you'd told me about it, I would have forgiven you for leaving. If something had happened to Sam, I'm sure you would've popped up when I asked for you anyway," he reasoned, his casual tone saying the angel should expect this sort of response from the Winchesters by now. Cas didn't deny that, but studied Dean with a slight tilt of his head, as if the man were something he couldn't quite understand. "Dean..."

As the angel opened his mouth to say something else, Sam appeared through the motel door, carrying a plastic bag and a welcome drink tray. Dean realized with a pang that he hadn't noticed his brother's absence, and kicked himself mentally. He needed to be on the lookout with a crazy angel on the loose.

Cas seemed to consider continuing with the conversation, but the taller Winchester spoke up before the words came, setting down the coffee and convenience store food. "So Cas, we've been researching this angel called Adriel, and he's been popping up all over the states in car accidents. But get this, on the news this morning there was a clip of him calling the police from the home of a guy who'd been killed, claiming he saw a woman burn out his eyes..."

Castiel's brow furrowed, and he looked to Sam expectantly. "You are sure this is the same person as the accidents Dean mentioned? A man could have witnessed an angel killing." Sam just shook his head, looking to Dean for confirmation that Cas was up-to-date on the message. He took his brother's nod into account before continuing.

"The caller identified himself as Adriel Richardson; a new surname, but still Adriel. And with what's been going on the past week or so I doubt it's some other guy with the same name... Cas, are you alright?" Sam finished, watching the angel's shoulders rise tensely. Dean looked up from the grocery bag he'd been digging in, scanning his friend in concern when he heard Sam's words. He looked stressed and sleepless, but that was a perpetual state of being among the Winchesters and as far as Dean knew, he didn't need sleep to begin with. Still, when Sam thought something was wrong, it usually was.

Cas' eyes were fixed on the wall behind Sam's head as though he were studying the patterns of the mildew stains rather than avoiding looking him in the eye. "I am well for the time being, Sam. But Adriel will be looking for me," he sighed, "myself and the sister who captured and punished him." Castiel looked pensive for a long moment, then turned toward the dining table. "Dean. The angel who contacted you, was it a female vessel with short red hair? Did she brandish her wings but no weapon? And did she seem angry with you?"

Dean had busied himself chowing down on a hostess pie the second he'd decided Cas wouldn't collapse or disappear on him. He swallowed an oversized bite and wiped some crusted sugar from lower lip with his thumb, thinking back to the unwelcome visitor from the previous night. "Brown hair, but the wings were red I guess. She showed 'em off like you said though, no weapons." He chuckled before continuing, "I think most angels who come within a hundred yards seem mad at me, Cas, but this one was just your garden variety stick in the mud. She gave me the message for you and zapped off to who knows where. Didn't even give me a speech about how I'm contaminating your holiness or how much she wants to smite me." Dean punctuated the end of his recounted tale with another huge bite of the snack pie, giving a bulging smile while Cas nodded to himself.

"It's likely Camael, in pursuit of Adriel, although until now she hadn't replaced her vessel in 50 years. She's the sister who assisted me in capturing him," Cas noted in case the implication of the words 'in pursuit' evaded the Winchesters in their tired state. After a thoughtful moment that was painfully silent except for the rustling of Sam retrieving his breakfast sandwich from the gas 'n' sip bag, Castiel raised his head, addressing both brothers. "I have no doubt that my siblings are each on the other's trail. If we locate one, it should be no struggle to find the other." Dean tossed the wrapper from his breakfast and asked in a sigh, "Can't we just pray or whatever and get one of 'em to pop on over? Preferably the one who doesn't seem to want you dead?"

The angel's glare was tangibly intense as he snapped, "We may not be on the run from all of heaven any longer, Dean, but there are still plenty of angels who would jump at the chance to kill the two of you. Some would prefer to end all three of us. If you put out a frequency on angel radio about where we are now, someone with less than pure intentions is bound to overhear."

Dean sighed, nodding in reply, and thrummed his fingers on the counter a few times before finding that the surface was sticky and recoiling from it. "So what are we gonna do?" Dean asked, looking from his brother to his angel, though the question was directed more toward Cas and his supply of heavenly know-how. Blue eyes turned on him, glittering and narrowed in a smile, and he knew Cas was about to either quote a Winchester or profess his faith in them. "We will do what we always do," Castiel announced in a level, proud tone, nodding slightly. His military stance and quirked smile radiated a confidence that Dean hadn't seen from him in months. The angel had paused as if under the impression that the one of the brothers would finish his thought, but at Sam's incredulously raised eyebrows and Dean's expectant stare he raised his head, adding, "We will hunt."


	3. Another Matter

The aura of badassery radiating from the angel who was staring calmly through Dean could have held him captive for a lot longer than five seconds if the ceiling hadn't collapsed in on itself above the angel and dusted him with sheetrock before crashing into the kitchen in pieces. The air was hazy with particles which Dean was pretty sure he shouldn't be breathing in, but when he'd blinked away some of the stinging and coughed until his throat burned his gaze locked onto a mountain of drywall where Cas had been standing.

A pale hand was the only thing visible beneath the rubble, twisted awkwardly at the wrist and already turning dark with bruising. He couldn't help it- he stared, and anything else in the room was white noise. Shock subsided in another two seconds, and he darted toward the pile of sheetrock that was possibly entombing his best friend before being held fast by a strong grip on his left bicep.

Dean's gaze snapped to the person gripping his arm, mouth open to tell Sam not to touch him, and was met with a penetrating blue gaze. Cas inspected him quickly for injuries before tilting his head and plucking a fragment of the former ceiling from the man's spiked hair. His relieved smile was out of place on the face powdered with drywall beneath white-dusted hair. The angel almost looked like a bag of powdered sugar had been upended over his head, and the fingers of Dean's free hand twitched with the urge to ruffle the foreign particles out of Cas' hair.

At the same time, he nearly broke into a full laugh at the sight, but when Castiel released him, gently pushing his raised arm down, the cerulean eyes again captured him in a discerning stare. Jeez, Cas needed to lighten up- since he'd started acting on emotions, every little incident had him frantically looking over the Winchesters. Not that Dean minded having a badass angel watching over him, but it was getting almost creepy how the guy forgot himself in the rush to tend to them.

"Dean?!" The urgency in Sam's voice dragged him from his thoughts, and his head snapped toward where his brother was kneeling beside the mound of rubble that he was definitely not paying a damage fee for. Something purple was visible in a bare patch, and he could still see the arm with its crooked wrist splayed out from the bottom of the drywall pile. "Sonofabitch," he sighed, eyes flickering from the unharmed angel beside him to the broken hand. Dean stepped over what was left of the light fixture that had been dangling haphazardly from the ceiling before any damage had been done, squatting before the largest portion of the mess just as Sam was able to move most of the rubble aside.

"Camael..." The tone was familiar, if a bit unsure.

Dean looked to Cas, who said nothing after the name. He'd been about to refer to her as Top Cat or UPS, but at least he knew that it was the angel Cas seemed to trust. Sam's confusion was plain in his deeply knitted eyebrows, and he was the first to speak up in the long silence following Castiel's duosyllabic mumbling. "She was here last night, shouldn't she have known how to land in the room instead of over it?" he questioned as Castiel approached the pair, looming over both the crouched brothers and the still, prone figure.

"She was not attacked," the angel concluded, tilting his head to get a better look at his sister. Her glasses were bent, one hinge practically snapped and lying uselessly over a freckled cheek, and she was bruised in three or four places, but there was no blood to be seen. "There are no wounds aside from those sustained in the drop, but..." Cas' eyes narrowed, his lips drawing apart as he focused on studying the other angel. "... her grace is dim. Depleted even. I'm surprised she could fly at all with the shrunkenness of her wings. They're usually massive." Castiel looked thoroughly baffled. More than that, he looked aggravated with himself for not knowing what exactly was going on, and Dean found himself standing to pat the man's shoulder, letting his hand rest there, a mirror of the angel's grip on him in hell.

Green eyes trying to connect with blue, Dean offered an explanation. "They were pretty wimpy yesterday, too. Maybe somebody's trying to pull a Metatron with her grace?" Castiel shook his head, finally looking at Dean. "No, after everything that followed, no one has shown inclination to do so. And there are no Nephilim in existence... but Camael was an archangel and could have been of much more use to the current cause if half of her 'mojo' wasn't missing." The exasperated sigh gave Dean pause. If anything Cas had been more sensitive recently, but his words made it sound like the guy was back to factory model prick until he continued. "I believe it is likely that this development is connected to Adriel's escape. Someone doesn't want us to find him, but didn't bother or manage to kill Camael. We must ask her when she wakes."

"Speaking of-" Sam called loudly, eyes flickering between the standing pair, "- when you guys are done with the heart-to-heart, maybe you could help me move the unconscious angel out of the pile of motel bits?" Dean scoffed and gave Sammy his best, 'Can it, bitch,' look at the implication of chick flick-ery, but moved beside his brother to take the legs of their inert guest. Sam hooked his arms under Camael's, folding her right arm so the broken wrist rested on her abdomen before counting to three and hauling her up.

The angel was deceptively heavy, probably about 150 pounds packed away in the petite frame, and it took a minute to maneuver her from the kitchen floor to the lumpy bed. When a pillow was propped under her neck and Castiel had taken it upon himself to heal her outward injuries, the Winchesters sat. Sam was situated at the small table covered in his research, replacing a screw in Camael's broken glasses with a set of minute tools Dean didn't remember owning. Dean himself slouched in a stuffing-deficient armchair and looked to Cas for a plan.

No one had come banging on the door to ask about the earlier noise, which only cemented Dean's desire to get a room at a better place the next time, but he dropped thoughts of a new hunt in favor of listening as Castiel began to brainstorm. "Camael may know something of Adriel's location," he suggested, "I assume she was returning with new information and miscalculated her landing. One of her wings has been broken, but it's a stress fracture from trying to carry herself too far on them, so we can feel assured that she wasn't fighting or followed and we don't have to leave immediately."

Castiel's eyes were bright, and the one-sided quirk of his lips made him look like a teacher, proud of what he was lecturing on. Dean had a teacher like that once- for two weeks in Nebraska; every class was a chance for the man to discuss with pride the literary work of some obscure poets. While Dean really hadn't retained anything from the English lectures, he remembered that proud smile, so much like his own when he thought of the results of his and Sam's work. They were all doing good in one way or another, and when the thoughts settled down he raised his head in a reverse nod toward Cas. "So that means we just wait for Snow White here to get up and explain her end of things, right?"

Dean raised his eyebrows and pushed himself up from the almost oily touch of the armchair, stalking back to the kitchen as he continued to speak. "Then I'm gonna finish my coffee and see what's playing on Adriel fm."

Cas protested with a sound that wasn't quite a grunt, and Dean reassured him, hands raised, that he wasn't still thinking about tapping Angel Radio. Pulling on his leather jacket now that he was fully awake, he picked up the Laptop he'd fallen asleep in front of the night before and headed to the drywall-soiled kitchen table.

While Dean dipped back into the database he'd been scoping, the keyword 'Adriel' still planted in the search bar, Sam finished repairing the plastic frames of the dormant angel's glasses and downed his long cold breakfast. Cas sat watching his sister sleep, head cocked ever so slightly to one side. It had been a long time since the guy had been in the same room as another angel who didn't want to kill or control him, so Dean allowed him the luxury of doing nothing productive. He picked up the slack by marking the location of every incident on a couple of cheap maps, scrawling the order on one, writing out dates and times in the margins over the population density key on another, and detailing victim profiles on the back of a tourist-attraction guide he'd accidentally nabbed while swiping freebie local maps in Indiana a few weeks before.

Nothing could be triangulated, or in the case of Adriel decagonalated (it could be a word) over the two hours he'd been combing through information, and Dean distanced himself from the prior work quite literally. Standing and cracking his back, he tacked the three pamphlets to the cupboard, wincing when he opened it to the sight of a roach graveyard crisscrossed with cobwebs. After firmly closing the cupboard he sat again, then entwined the fingers of both hands and rested them behind his head, inching his chair back with a beleaguered sigh. The victims were of different ages and classes and not even their deaths were consistent. The first few were car accidents, but this morning, after the angel-kill it had switched to a stint as witness to shootings, each time with a different surname and even a new description by authorities before he disappeared.

... he was vessel hopping every time he made a kill. Dean wondered if the surnames he was assuming belonged to the vessels or if he was making them up as he went. He'd always thought it would be hard for an angel to get a new vessel, needing someone devout and pure and all that, but this guy had burned through over half a dozen of them in a week. He wasn't holding out hope that Adriel was leaving former vessels where they belonged, or even alive, either.

Dean was pulling his notes down, leaving his pushpins in the peeling wood of the cabinet door, when Cas made a pained choking sound from the other room and he heard a chair topple as Sam cursed loudly. By the time he reached the scene, papers dropped and forgotten on the uncleaned floor, Camael, held back by Sam's hands on her shoulders, was staring at Cas with wide eyes while the angel regained his breath and healed the marks on his throat. "I apologize, brother," Camael muttered, averting her eyes. "My eyesight is poor without my spectacles and I didn't recognize you for a moment."

"You didn't know who he was so you tried to strangle him?!" Dean demanded, eyes sternly on the shorter angel who turned to him with an apathetic expression. "I was merely attempting to incapacitate him," she snapped, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Do you all talk like a game of scrabble?" he asked snidely. It was endearing when Cas used high tier words and didn't understand the intricacies of slang, sarcasm or pop culture, because he was always sincere and well-meaning, but from any other angel it just sounded like arrogance dripping from a being convinced it was better than humans in any way one could think of.

Camael glared at Dean, and he could swear her jaw set in a pout. "I do not speak casually to people I do not trust," she explained, "but cursing is another matter, so watch your tone, bitch." Sam was biting his lip in an attempt to curb his laughter. Dean shot him a venomous look before firing back, "Your _face_ is another matter, four eyes," and gesturing for his brother to give the angel back her glasses before she 'didn't recognize' him on purpose.

Everyone had just recovered from the ordeal when the door shook with the force of a quartet of knocks. The muffled thumps continued when no one moved to answer the door, and Dean knew there were only three possible visitors; somebody wanted to break in and was checking that the place was empty, something Supernatural had found them, or worst-case-scenario- "It's past checkout!"

Shit...


	4. Mellowed Out

Like the beating of an accursed heart, the thrum of a fleshy hand against the door only grew louder as strained seconds ticked by. The mildewed wood that looked days from crumbling in on itself vibrated with every strike, and Dean found himself reaching for the doorknob as his three companions inched out of sight. There wasn't exactly a limit on how many people could be in a room unless you had qualms with sleeping on a carpet that smelled like vomit and bad decisions, but two additional people covered in debris and white powder would look suspicious to any proprietor. There was also the matter of the former ceiling...

Dean cringed as he pulled the door in a half-swing, which was as far as it would go without a tough jerk and an unsavory cry from the labored hinges. "Hey man." He groaned the words with a deceptive slur, making a point of swaying on his feet and squinting into the overcast light that peered over the squat visitor's shoulder. "Time'sit?" He could practically hear Sam shaking his head at the overacting, but he shot a self-confident smirk at his brother when the motel manager's stout grey eyebrows ceased their march to the bridge of his nose. Brown eyes rolled, and clearly the guy either bought the hungover act or thought they were trying to dodge paying.

Under different circumstances 'Donald' as his self-laminated tag read might have been right on both , Dean had pulled together enough cash by pawning things bought with fake credit cards over the last 7 months to set up shitty motel rooms for four through Christmastime if his latest stint as 'Rob Walker' didn't pan out. Sam called groggily from the other side of the room, "Isit Cassss? Rob, did he bring the tacos?" and to his credit he didn't laugh afterward.

"No man, Cas showed up an hour ago, with pie and that cousin of his with the glass eye," Dean shouted back, hoping to explain away the angels before Cas popped up with a dose of truth, or worse, a repeat of the last spot check; consolation for the manager's dead wife or dog. That was a hundred dollars he'd never go back for. Donald was looking through Dean, lips pressed flatly together, and he sighed again before clearing his throat with a wet cough. At least he wasn't glowering, though a pinprick in his back told Dean that Camael hadn't appreciated the glass eye detail and was putting her eyes to use as a weapon.

"You boys just stay outta trouble with the law 'n' we'll get along fine," the portly man rasped, pointing a plump finger at Dean purposefully. "An' whatever you're smokin' better leave when you do. Last fella that left his stash behind got three years before I even stepped up to the stand." Dean raised his hands, taking the advice to heart; he'd double check that any suspicious gear was packed tight before they took off in the morning...

That was the first he'd thought of it, but the four of them had to sit and talk and plan before they could get moving, and as much as he itched to be on the road before dark he was going to need his four hours first. "Yeah, we'll clean up and get out of your hair tomorrow. Cas' cousin's just got food poisoning so she'll be uh, busy," Dean explained with a gesture toward the bathroom, earning a nod from Don, who'd probably seen some things go down that would make the Winchesters' jobs look normal. "Just throw an extra twenty down on your way... And don't drink outta the tap in the bathroom," the older man added, his eyebrows raised in a much more friendly warning than the one that had been painted on his face when the door had first opened.

Dean turned from the door when it was firmly(-ish) closed, a finger to his lips for a long moment while Sam stared him down with a cocked eyebrow and mouthed 'Really?'

After ten seconds or so the brothers were high fiving, broken out in fits of laughter that didn't ebb until a bristling angel popped up between them. "What in the name of hell is the matter with you, Dean Winchester?" Camael growled, the venom she'd lacked in her first visit practically dripping. "Are you _trying_ to get him to call the police or invite himself in? Never mind whatever drug habit you seem to be on the cusp of falling off the wagon for, though... I came here for a reason."

Dean clicked his tongue and looked past Camael, snapping, "Yeah, that reason had better have something to do with fixing the mess you made of the-" Okay, the kitchen was spotless, and not in the 'left the way we found it' sense. The cabinets looked freshly polished, there was no longer a crack in the floor in front of the gas stove and the refrigerator looked like it hadn't been sitting in the same spot for the past ten years. If something was a slightly different color, Dean was sure Donald wouldn't mind. Even the table that had been propped with a decaying phonebook was repaired, every carving of obscenity from Don's former patrons absent as though they'd never existed.

He looked to Cas, who was standing by the table peering down at the papers Dean had dropped. The angel's concentration appeared to be focused on the map until he noticed the sugar ants that had been marching toward the smear of cherry pie filling on one corner. "Such small lives," he muttered, "how do you do it? Living off of what is left behind while everything in creation is battling around you?" Dean had a sneaking suspicion that his question wasn't meant for the ants on the floor, but he busied himself checking the ceiling and wall for leftover damage, ignoring Cas' newfound existentialism in favor of something a little lighter. "So what, you guys can poof stuff back to nineteen ninety five-condition?" he questioned, glancing sidelong at the angel and trying to look equal parts curious and nonchalant. Castiel shook his head. "That is not what Camael and I did. We simply replaced the motel's broken or unsafe materials with better ones."

"Wait, wait, the motel?" Dean asked, raising his voice and eyebrows in suspicion. "Did you two just rebuild an entire motel without paying or asking or anything?" Cas shrugged, a subtle motion but unmistakable. At least the guy was learning to act a little more human, as far from it as he sometimes seemed.

"I left payment," Camael huffed from where she was looking through the cabinets. "What I didn't do was purchase food, as I thought a place with refrigeration would have some..." The angel turned to Dean with a frown, and he found himself staring at the same face a young Sam would make when he was hungry and their dad had only left beer and foil-wrapped leftovers in the kitchen- a hungry bitchface for the ages. Angels didn't even get hungry, but somehow Dean thought she would do it just to be defiant. "What use are you Winchesters?" the bespectacled angel sighed, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Well I like to think I make up for my lack of manners with my looks and sass," Dean retorted with a wink, "And Sammy is a sensitive, tenderhearted giant of a man with twice the daddy issues and three times the clothing of a stripper." Camael's disgust at the comparison was plain as she muttered, "I'll keep that in mind." The angel turned to her brother, arms crossed and expression flat, watching him try to pick up a sugar ant to study. "You Winchesters broke Castiel too," Camael sighed before addressing the other angel.

"Adriel is in the company of a demon. I don't know his name, only that he's a sick bastard who claims to play by the rules. Over a dozen deceased, several unreported and others blatantly displayed... I believe he's taken several victims as playthings. The level of torture he's capable of is unknown, but if he's hurting them we have to intercede."

"Of course we will," Cas answered, giving a stout nod. He glanced to Dean for confirmation before making eye contact with his sister, though. "Did Adriel kill that man this morning?" he asked, his tone an accusation. Camael's expression didn't waver as she answered, "He committed an atrocity and prayed that our father would reward him for it. I was shown what I had to do."

Castiel's steel gaze softened into one of compassion. "You're taking assignments again... and you're sure they're from father?" His sister shook her head, replying, "Father has been silent, but I've received the orders and deemed them just."

Dean had been watching in silence, but he needed to interject to clarify what he'd just heard. "So, what, you archangels are just killing in the name of your absent dad left 'n' right, or is it just you?" A hard stare turned on him, but he didn't take it back. Camael studied him for a moment before responding, "I have received orders from father and the more trusted of my brothers and sisters since the beginning of humanity, and I have always carried them out to my fullest capacity. I am the hand of justice that punishes those who commit unforgivable acts."

The speech didn't feel like a hollow reiteration; she definitely believed in her cause, which made Dean paranoid that soon his name was going to be on her hit list. A self-righteous angel was the perfect murder weapon.

"Okay... but I thought Joseph was the one having Pow-wows with his holiness, anyway. How come you've got a toll-free number for god too?" Castiel took the reins in the conversation before Camael could fall into a rant, pulling Dean aside while the other angel disappeared, likely in search of lunch. He was hungry too, come to think of it, but he'd let Cas explain first.

"Camael is the 'one who sees god' in your... lore," Cas said slowly, pausing to process the right word at the end, "Since her creation as an archangel, she has been given tasks- you would say errands, from collecting specimens of plant life to removing certain people from the world. In her words she's given a vision or image by god or an archangel of the bad things a person has done, and once she's seen it and agreed that the person should suffer, she does what she must. Killing, torture, sometimes on the soul itself... Only twice has Camael deviated from orders of her own will, though most of the time I'm inclined to agree with her decisions. But she hasn't seen much of the good that you, humans, do, Dean. Her job is to administer punishment, and she will continue to do so without looking past to the benefits of work like ours."

Cas said something else, but Dean didn't hear it. He was already in the mood to save a few people and rub the victory in Camael's face so she'd stop being such a hardass, but Cas' words made the cloud of discontent hover tentatively. 'Work like ours,' he'd said. Castiel was already practically abandoning heaven at every turn for the Winchesters. Now he'd taken hunting as his life and Dean- and Sam- as a part of that. He wasn't sure he could allow himself to feel pride in that. What if it came back to haunt the angel, or got him killed again? And if someone in upper management decided Camael should do away with the three of them, she had no compassion to stop her. He needed to tell Cas that hunting was temporary, and he would go home once he felt ready. But it wasn't what he _wanted_ to say, so he remained silent.

"-and then there was Eden," Castiel sighed, pulling Dean back to the present. He hardly noted the Winchester's half-focused, "What?" The angel shifted on his feet a little, looking over his shoulder in case his sister had returned, but there was no one else in the kitchen. The only sound was the ticking of Sam's fingers on the laptop keyboard in the other room. "... Camael is the one who chased Adam and Eve from paradise- with a burning sword." The last word was softer, as though he didn't want it overheard. "She doesn't like to talk about it."

"Seriously!?" It was all Dean could think of to say. Sir Smite-a-lot had issues; she thought there was something wrong with the Winchesters when kicking the original twosome out of Eden was part of her job? Shaking his head, Dean grumbled, "When we go on a supply run later, Camael's staying here, coin toss on who's gonna babysit." Castiel nodded, still looking awkward, and added, "She's mellowed out a lot over the years."

An almighty crash from the parking lot punctuated Cas' sentence, and neither member of the conversation had to look outside to know who'd caused it.


	5. Heads and Tails

"Mellowed out, huh?" Dean challenged, opening the door on the chaotic scene; a bearded, bone thin man in a hoodie and dirt-crusted jeans was cowering under the hood of an overturned car. One and a half parking spaces from there Camael stood over a splayed out figure in a grimy tee shirt. There was a butterfly knife on the ground a yard away, stained red, but the man's wounds were in the blunt force trauma category by Dean's standards. The guy looked like he'd been bashed into the ground an extra time for good measure after he'd passed out, and the homeless man under the honda would probably need therapy.

Camael turned toward the open door, fire in her eyes and the toe of her light-up sneaker digging into the diaphragm of the unconscious mugger. "I brought tacos and pie to corroborate the story with the manager," she announced in a voice laced with the remnants of fury, holding up a few plastic bags. Only when Castiel appeared beside Dean at the door did his sister step off of her victim, tossing the other angel two bags of groceries. As Cas caught them bodily and fumbled trying not to break the hard tacos she crouched beside the scruffy man whose eyes were darting away from her every time she moved. "Did he harm you, Mister Hale?" she asked, the edge finally trickling out of her tone. Her eyes were still hard and emotionless, though. The man shook his head, hugging a pillowcase close to his chest, and finally risked looking Camael in the eye timidly.

"Then he will live," the angel announced, offering Mr. Hale a hand up. He took it, hardly able to grasp her hand for the shaking in his own, and once standing he was faced with a white grocery bag. Camael proffered it wordlessly, and he received it similarly.

A moment later Camael was sweeping past Cas and shoving Dean out of the way with a shoulder, making a beeline for the now plush sofa in front of a flatscreen television that had been one of the angels' additions to the remodeled motel. "So what was that about?" Sam asked, looking up from his work. "A man was attacked and justice was delivered," the seated angel replied, unwrapping a burrito from yet another fast food bag. "Pass me the sewing kit when you're done eating."

Dean entered the room just as Sam leaned to the side to get a look at the brunette; there was a hole in her vest and shirt that showed pale skin just below the ribcage. No blood or injury was left, which was a good sign. He pulled his brother aside, noting, "She can still heal, but I think pulling this place out of the ikea catalog sapped any extra grace. I don't think we should take her if we do a little investigating later- Maybe Cas can ward the place and one of us should stay."

"I'm way ahead of you, Sammy," Dean replied, pulling a quarter from his pocket. "Heads I win, tails you lose?" Sam rolled his eyes at the joke, complaining, "Just 'cause you and Cas are best friends doesn't mean I'm on angel duty, Dean. I want tails."

Dean held back a comment on his brother's bitchiness, looking to the angel who was chowing down in front of the latter half of some police procedural. "So are you friends with the homeless guy, or is this just a Power Ranger thing where you rescue 'im and never call again?" In his experience, angels did what they were told and not a motion more. Giving 'Mr. Hale' lunch or whatever was in the bag seemed like an extra, but if Cas was right there was no reason to think she might join Team Free Will or that she wouldn't try to kill them once their mutual enemy had been taken care of.

Dean flipped his quarter as Camael shrugged, frowning around a mouthful of rice and chicken. "I usually act only when something has already happened, but if it takes place before me the right thing has seemed to be to interfere. I can't help with Mister Hale's alcoholism or his inability to remain on the wagon long enough to stay in a job, but the application in the bag of tacos is from the owner of this motel and he may offer room and board to maintain the place now that it's in acceptable condition."

Triumphantly Dean revealed George Washington's profile on the side of the coin staring up from the back of his hand, giving Sam a smirk as his brother flipped him the bird for his cockiness. "Looks like you and Sam'll be hanging here in 'acceptable condition' while Cas and I go do a little demon digging and pick up stuff for the drive. Don't break anything, or fix anything else for that matter, and don't open the door for anyone named Candy, Crowley or Juan Pedro," he warned with an authoritative lilt, Eager to get out and drive, Dean took the bag that had pie in it from Cas, turning the angel around where he still stood near the door and walking him outside before he could protest. "Let's get some dirt on the guy working with Adriel and get back before any more 'justice' happens," he explained, heading straight for his baby in the parking space dead center from the motel room door. It might turn out to be a good day after all.

While Cas studied and deconstructed a quesadilla in the passenger's seat, Dean let the sound of the Impala drown out his thoughts and pulled through the lot and onward, heading for the nearest crossroads. He flipped on the radio, tuned to a classic rock station, and maneuvered a crappy fast food pie out of the bag plunked beside Cas' leg before the angel chided him on the importance of paying attention to the road.

Dean rolled his eyes, about to mumble through a bite of apple and soggy crust that he could drive the two-lane street with his eyes closed when he first caught sight of the Land Rover pulling up in the rear view mirror. The driver said something, and a moment later the car was less than a foot from touching the Impala. When the Rover first nudged his baby, Dean floored the gas pedal, cursing the narrow road's long stretch, but in seconds another impact jarred him against the steering wheel. He glimpsed black eyes in the rear view moments before Cas' urgent, "Dean," alerted him to the demon's presence. "Yeah, I got it Cas..."

As he slowed to try and block the car behind, it pulled up into the other lane, rushing past a 'no passing' sign before swerving to smash sidelong into the driver's side doors and send it tumbling into the greenery yards from the blacktop. Though he'd been wearing his seatbelt Dean had hit the wheel again on the way down and his nose was trying to drain the blood that kept filling his sinuses.

Dean was phasing in and out of consciousness; he needed to scratch his head where a dribble of blood was sliding into his hair, but one of his hands felt at least broken and the other arm was hanging out of its socket uselessly. Eyes bleary with blood and the effects of an onsetting concussion, he turned his head as far as he could manage without gasping n pain and scanned Cas' side of the car. Castiel's open-faced quesadilla was planted cheese-side-down on the roof liner, and the angel was crumpled beside it, bleeding from at least two places on his head alone. The windshield was spidered with cracks where he'd hit it, and Dean wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned that he'd fallen back instead of through the glass that might have broken under say, Sam's weight.

Shit. Sam... He'd forgotten to have Cas ward the motel against angels. The Winchesters had painted enough devil's traps, but if Adriel found the room he couldn't be sure that the angel already there was enough to protect Sam. "Cas," Dean wheezed, wincing as he was made aware of the stinging split in his lip and the brokenness of his own voice. There was no stirring beneath the tan trench coat, but the angel's brow twitched and he appeared to be breathing, however labored it was.

Dean was relieved until the dented passenger's door clicked and was wrenched open. The demon squatted and peered in, scanning the Winchester for only a moment before focusing his attention on the unconscious Castiel. "Here we go," he sighed, like an auctioneer who'd just found the real thing at a show full of frauds. Dean reached for his demon knife with a broken hand as the demon tutted him, hauling Cas out of the car bodily. "I only need to borrow him for a little while, kiddo, don't get your panties in a twist..." After a moment and a glare that could kill from Dean, he added slyly, "If you behave maybe I'll bring him back without any pieces missing... or not- your choice."

When he had Cas over his shoulder the demon popped open the glove box, taking out one of the older models of a backup phone and dialing 9-1-1. "Hello, yes?!" he panted, admittedly practiced at sounding panicked. "Yes, there's been a crash on 18th street, near Peak Meadow Drive... One guy's beat up pretty bad, he needs an ambulance! My name? I-It's Cole. Cole Aaron..."

The demon hung up the phone, shooting a wink Dean's way while the hunter tried to fumble his way out of his seatbelt's restraints to throttle him.

"See you soon, if you're good." Dean nearly managed to free himself through sheer willpower when the demon took Castiel's hand and waved it for him. When his vision spotted and he almost threw up from the dizzying aftereffects of the frantic motion, he settled for kicking at his door until his leg wouldn't move any longer.

His pulse was pounding in his head as through a haze a car door slammed and he heard the engine sputter to life. He was taking Cas, but Dean couldn't even get his eyes open. Everything burned and he couldn't remember where they'd been going, but Cas was gone and it was Dean's fault. He was going to kill that demon; he couldn't hear anything anymore but that was alright, it was nice and warm and the pain was fading the further he slipped into unconsciousness and...


	6. Emergency

"So," Sam started a second time, clearing his throat. The angel stationed in front of the television didn't acknowledge him; whether she was ignoring him completely, absorbed in the crime show on the screen or waiting for him to say something with more than one syllable he didn't know, but she hadn't taken another bite of her burrito since he'd attempted to start a conversation, so he was hopeful. There wasn't much he could find on Adriel, his nameless demon companion or any new incidents, and five minutes after his brother had left he'd closed the laptop to give his eyes and mind a rest.

Thinking that perhaps Camael had left out a detail or could answer some questions on angels in general, Sam formulated an ice breaker but decided that 'So you're an archangel?' was sort of weak. He'd overheard enough of Cas and Dean's earlier conversation to know that Camael was basically heaven's hitman, so talking about work would either give them common ground to share information or lead to a pissed-off archangel who refused to answer questions.

"So, _what_ , Winchester?" the oddly soft voice called from the sofa. Sam turned blankly toward the sound, dragged out of his inner argument, and found that Camael was now lounging across the couch with a pillow hugged to her abdomen. Her face was turned toward the glow of the screen. He would have thought that the odd archangel didn't know _how_ to lounge if he hadn't seen her sprawled there. Her entire air of authority and power had vanished, and Sam earnestly hoped it didn't mean she was running on empty grace-wise. He and Dean had dealt with angels gone human before, and it was never pretty.

"Calm your ample tits, Samuel," Camael growled, twisting around to frown meaningfully in his direction. Sam thought he caught a bit of an eye roll, but he was still confused by the flip flop in the angel's mannerisms. Before he could ask, she explained in what seemed like small words. "I'm not burning out just yet. As I told your brother, I have every ability to fit in with modern society. I've been working on Earth for four-hundred years straight, for Chrissakes, and the nature of my duties requires me to blend with humanity. I would simply rather appear imposing and unfamiliar to those I distrust."

"Like Dean," Sam concluded, raising an eyebrow. He understood the ire of every angel who'd heard the name Winchester over the past six to ten years, but Camael's suspicion only seemed to be directed toward Dean. "So, does that mean you trust me?" It was a strange thing to think, considering what he'd done in the past and the choices he'd made, but then again most of heaven had wanted the apocalypse he'd unwittingly started, and he'd been forgiven time and again.

Camael gave a loose shrug, cocking a smile that looked out of place below eyes that remained steel no matter her expression or the gleam of reflected television. "Castiel has faith in the two of you. And as you seem to put more value on his life than he has in centuries, I'm willing to believe as well. Dean, however, appears to have more selfish motives for keeping Castiel around, so I'll remain a cynic as far as his intentions. Plus he can be an ass."

Sam grinned, agreeing, "Yeah, he really can." Maybe it wasn't the best idea to have a contract-killing angel around, but if her rigid immovability only extended to her work then there was the chance that she could teach Cas a few cultural things, like how insulting Dean could be fun, or why birthdays were celebrated. The fact that Castiel seemed to be experiencing emotions on a daily basis came to mind, but he doubted the stone-hearted archangel would be of much help with those. Another thought bubbled up as he nudged a mushy piece of tomato to the side of his salad, and since it didn't sound offensive in his head he asked, "I know you guys can eat, but, can you really taste it? Cas said that everything was atoms and molecules..."

Camael studied the stub that was left of her tortilla like the answer was between two grains of rice. "It is, but..." She paused, inhaling and staring into space before coming up with the right words. "Over the centuries I've been able to reconstruct taste, and I find that eating allows me to detect things about the people who cook it." The smile on her face had dropped without her notice, but there was a curiosity in its place as she continued, "The young woman who folded this burrito has a geometry test at the community college tonight that she isn't prepared for. She also left her fiance for her lover last week, so the worries were a bit muddled, but both were individual."

"Wow." Sam was genuinely impressed by the practice. "So you taste... feelings? That's almost creepy," he laughed until Camael shot him a stern frown. "I do not taste them, nor are they 'feelings,' but I- hear isn't the correct word... It's like viewing a silent film, or my orders. I see the cause of a person's deepest wrong or concern through the eyes of an onlooker." Sam's brow furrowed, and his own frown inched into place as he inquired, "You don't see the good things, ever?" The angel just shook her head, looking like she wanted to speak but didn't know how to explain.

"It's a tool for my work so that I do not have to directly contact the target initially," she finally sighed after finishing the burrito and crumpling the paper into a small lump. "My job is not to weigh the good against the bad. I cannot be subjective and spare a man his punishment for a great atrocity because he was a good man for most of his life prior. If his choice was conscious and his own, he does not deserve amnesty through a cache of good deeds."

Swallowing around the tension in his throat, Sam tried to imagine his own and Dean's worst moments. If Camael didn't want to kill him, did it mean that what he'd done was more excusable than others' worsts, or that she'd decided it wasn't his fault? _'Or maybe she hasn't been given your name to check yet,'_ his mind nagged, forcing him to look away from the blue-green stare that he hoped couldn't see into his fears. "You should really take a day off to look at charity and heroism," he suggested, managing to tame the quiver in his voice as memories he didn't want to acknowledge scratched at the corners of his mind.

Camael's response was swift and devoid of passion. "I cannot. It is not my place to know of those things. If I began to sympathize and empathize, I would no longer be sufficient in my place of work. An angel who becomes too close or too similar to humans is of no more use than you are to heaven and would sooner be cast out than given a chance. Even with the recent developments in heaven and the idea of free will, those taking leadership are returning to the old ways."

She didn't sound fearful of losing her job or her life as an angel, but everything was a matter of fact and quantification, and by her measure there was no reason to risk heaven for happiness. Just hearing her distant words made Sam realize how far Cas had come from the day he'd saved Dean from hell. He was the same at first: devoted to his brothers, his father's ways and everything he'd been raised and trained and maybe even forced to believe in.

Camael had said earlier that the Winchesters had 'broken' Castiel, and maybe that was true through the eyes of his brethren, but it would be Cas' decision in the end whether he'd been torn from the existence he was meant to live and cast into the painful life that came with free thought and emotion, or whether he'd been saved from the emptiness of an eternity trapped in the light while unable to feel the warmth of its glow.

When it was clear that Camael had no intention of continuing the conversation, Sam switched gears to preparing for the next hunt, hoping that it wouldn't be too long before Dean and Cas returned with the salt and iron they'd neglected to stock up on over the past few weeks. He packed four bottles of holy water, a mass of bandages, a dozen salt rounds and two silver knives in a small backpack and folded the clean pair of jeans and shirts that served as his backup on the bed.

After double-checking that he had a rosary and three paint markers for sigils and tossing Camael the small sewing kit that had been restocked to exist more along the lines of 'hunter stitching kit', he practiced throwing small knives at the corkboard the angels had installed beside the refrigerator. Dean's maps were pinned there as well, and Sam avoided hitting them when he could.

By the time the tv declared it three o'clock news hour, Sam had texted Dean's phone three times and each backup phone separately without response, and when he called, his brother's voice declared that he'd reached the voicemail and knew what to do from there. He clutched his phone in frustration, glaring at the wallpaper before snatching his clothes from the bed. "I'm taking a shower," he announced, "and if our brothers aren't back when I get out we're going to have to get leashes."

Camael said nothing, but nodded as she kept her eyes trained on the news anchor who was fumbling with her teleprompter lines. "Don't come in the bathroom unless it's an emergency," he added in warning, at which the angel snickered, "No worries, behemoth, I don't use the toilet at this point."

Sam let out a relieved sigh and retreated to the bathroom. He did roll his eyes when Camael called, "Lemme know if you run out of shampoo though, I think I saw a place on the way here that carries 'gigantor travel size.'" Hair jokes and jabs about his height were annoying, but they put him at ease with the visitor for the time being. A sense of humor on the angel could mean the difference between a chuckle and wrathful smiting attempts when Dean got around to his inevitable sarcasm.

The tap on the bathtub was no longer crusted with calcium deposit, and the series of suspicious rust-colored stains around the drain had disappeared as well. The whole setup was new, much like the rest of the amenities, but it looked in many ways like its predecessor, with its drain plug on a chain dangling from the faucet and the blue plastic curtain shielding the side opposite the showerhead.

Sam had undressed quickly and stacked his worn clothing on the sink with little care for the sock that dropped to the floor. When it came to the shower itself he allowed himself the luxury of standing under the hot water for several minutes before lathering shampoo into his hair and taking up the fresh bar of green soap from the niche in the bathroom wall. He listened in case the motel door opened or any commotion occurred outside, but let himself relax in the steaming spray of the shower.

He was under the showerhead, rinsing conditioner from his hair with his eyes scrunched shut, when a quick set of knocks sounded at the bathroom door. Two seconds later the rhythm repeated urgently, followed by a muffled shout of, "Samuel!" The voice was Camael's, and Sam knew she wouldn't take the term 'emergency' lightly. Before he could react there was another set of knocks, and he stumbled out of the shower, praying that nothing had happened and Camael wouldn't burst in before he had secured a towel.


	7. No Cas, No Plan, No Wings, No Dean?

In an instant Sam was wrapped in a towel and wrenching the door open, ready to face whatever was in the motel room. When Camael seized his wrist and dragged him in front of the television, he became equally confused and concerned.

On the screen, a reporter was detailing a car accident off the side of a two-lane road about twenty miles from the motel. Sam had assumed the angel was just eager to alert him to one of Adriel's assaults until he recognized the 1967 Impala sitting upside down between the road and trees. He swallowed hard, willing the worst-case-scenarios to stop reeling through his head, and asked without looking away from the image of Dean's trashed treasure, "Are they alright?"

"EMTs pulled the unconscious driver from the car and took him to the local hospital, Woodward Memorial... there was no one else on the scene, but there is evidence that someone else rammed the Chevy off the road and that there was an injured passenger who'd exited the vehicle before anyone arrived." Camael's tone was biting, almost unsteady with hatred for whatever had caused the crash even as she repeated the passionless words of an anchor. Sam felt the pounding of his pulse in his wrist and chest as he raced back into the bathroom to throw on his clean clothes, leaving his hair sopping wet and undone in his haste.

"How are we getting to the hospital?" he called eagerly, forcing his arm through the sleeve of his jacket on his way through the door. Only a minute had passed since he'd disappeared into the restroom. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and after an instant of blinding light he opened his eyes to the white stucco of waiting room walls. No one else was in queue to ask the middle-aged woman at the nurses' station for a room number or information, and Sam signed in swiftly as 'Wyatt Walker.' He explained shortly that his brother's car had been involved in an accident, and the head nurse, a dark-haired woman in Pink Panther scrubs, nodded slowly.

The woman seemed to know who Sam meant immediately; an omen. Whether it was good or bad had yet to be seen. "Robert Walker's in one of the ICU rooms. His wrist was splinted and he only needed a few stitches, but the poor guy's got a helluva concussion- he kept mumbling about angels and trying to get out of bed once he came to so we had to give him a muscle relaxer and a sleep aid..." She shook her head, but looked to Sam with a smile. "You can go in if you like, I'm sure he'll be glad to see his brother when he wakes up... Is your friend okay?"

Mild concern laced the nurse's words, and Sam was taken aback for a moment before he remembered the angel who'd transported him to the facility. When he turned he was expecting to see Camael staring unblinkingly at some waiting visitor, silently judging a life through her blank eyes. Instead she was doubled over with one arm of a chair in a death grip. Her head was down, glasses hanging without its usual purchase on the bridge of her nose, and she didn't move or speak aside from a slight shaking in the hand on the chair. "Um, I'm not sure," Sam answered the nurse disjointedly, looking back at Camael with a frown. If flying to this place was overdoing it for the (former?) archangel and Cas had really disappeared, he and a roughed-up Dean were going to have to go after Adriel and the demon on their own.

It wasn't like they'd never faced such a task before, but he'd been counting on the aid of the angels at least to find their brother, and if Adriel was going to make a move against the group there wouldn't be much mojo to stop him. Maybe he should take Camael to Dean's room and ward it against demons and other angels. "Um, I'm gonna go see Dean," Sam announced quietly, putting a hand on Camael's shoulder and jostling it a bit to see if she'd look up. If she didn't react he'd leave her to the nurse. The hospital probably couldn't tell the difference between human and angel anyway, so she'd be in good hands... unless of course Adriel knew they would be in this building. "Are you up to coming along or do you need to lie down?"

"... I think my wings are done. They've been disappearing since before my grace started to decline but now I can't feel them at all," Camael whispered back, raising her head to look him in the eye. Sam didn't know how an angel's wings really worked, but he assumed they weren't supposed to vanish without warning or reason. He frowned at a track of dark red trailing from the angel's nose, pointing it out by wiping under his own with a finger. The angel frowned at him and complained, "Get a tissue for that." Sam raised a hand to mime the motion again, sighing awkwardly, "I don't need- Your nose is bleeding."

Camael dropped her head before scrubbing at the bloody nose with the back of her free hand. When she looked up again there was still a pinkish tint smeared above her lips but she was wiping most of the drained blood on the thigh of her wrinkled black slacks. It was kind of gross, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt that if her powers were stronger she'd poof away the stain. Sam cleared his throat and jerked his right hand from where it still rested on the angel's shoulder, suggesting his earlier idea, "Let's ward up Dean's room and sit in there until he wakes up."

As he waited for a yes or no the much taller Sam noted that he could probably carry Camael on his own if he had to. He was also pleased to see that she'd repaired the damage to her vest, though the stitches were loose and lopsided and he had a sneaking suspicion that she'd neglected the shirt beneath it. The smears of blood and repaired, wrinkled clothing made the angel look like any of the patients in off the street, and Sam wondered for a moment if the woman the angel was possessing had any idea how poorly her body was being treated.

After about five seconds he turned to go, waving for Camael to follow if she could. She swayed for a moment with the first step, but pushed on to walk beside him, for which he was grateful. If Dean looked like the last time the Winchesters had been in a crash, Sam would need the angel around to prevent a breakdown culminating in his summoning and ganking as many demons as he could get his hands on.

Relatively speaking, though, Dean looked well. When the pair had arrived at the double room Sam had rushed to the side of his bed to gauge the damage while the angel lingered near the door, closing it and starting on a sigil. His brother was bandaged, had a busted nose and was probably going to be pissed that he had to wear a wrist splint, but he wasn't damaged beyond repair and there didn't seem to be a chance of a coma or broken limbs unless he did something ridiculously stupid in the time between waking and leaving the hospital.

With any luck the concussion was slighter than the doctor had thought and they'd just mistaken Dean's very real concern for the missing Castiel for incoherent babbling. It might not be easy to sign the man out but he wouldn't have any trouble getting around. Still preparing, Sam strode to the window and poured a line of salt from his canister. The place had to be secured until they could move Dean.

Luckily the bed on the opposite wall from Dean's was empty, and Camael seemed to be working on the door. When Sam finished salting both points of entry and around the beds, he watched Camael draw a blood sigil on the window before closing the curtains. He grimaced inwardly when he realized she was probably using more blood from her nose and reminded himself to let her deal with activating any sigils in the room.

When Sam moved to check the door and block it with an apparatus he found that it was secured with a silver lock and deadbolt. For an instant he was confused as to why a patient's room had such measures on the inside, but he ran a hand down his face a moment after, cursing his distracted mind. _Angel in the room._ He heaved a sigh and collapsed into the chair he'd pulled up to the bed, ending up at chest level with Dean's pillow. In silence he watched his brother, wondering if Camael was as concerned for hers as he was.

Castiel had been in the passenger's seat when the car crashed. From the view of the car's interior on the news he was worse off than Dean, and he'd disappeared without healing him. Sam's stomach lurched at the thought of the bloody roof liner and windshield.

Judging by the painted interior and cracked windshield Cas hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. He shouldn't have been able to stand, let alone heal and wander off on his own before the ambulance arrived. There was also the matter of who'd called the authorities; maybe the angel had made the call and left, but the idea was more wishful than probable. That left a third-party, the one who'd caused the accident. If Adriel had done this, he'd probably been targeting Cas, and if he'd taken him... For a long moment Sam was confused as to why Adriel hadn't simply left Dean to die. The angel had killed many times, so what was one more dead human? _Unless he wanted something from the Winchester._

From what he'd heard, Sam was sure that Adriel was after revenge on his siblings. Taking Dean and torturing him would have been as effective, if not moreso, than directly harming Castiel. The blue-eyed angel had given up everything for the boys on more than one occasion, and he would have offered his life in exchange for Dean's safety. He would have suffered twice the pain as was threatened against the hunter without a second thought. Adriel had incapacitated the perfect tool, and he'd left it with paramedics.

At that point Sam had to entertain the idea that someone else had been responsible for the attack. Maybe Cas' brother was looking for him, and maybe he'd figured out his whereabouts, but in the life of a hunter there were hundreds of other enemies who'd have liked to get their hands on an angel. He didn't want to imagine his friend as a feeding tool for vampires, or a demon's plaything, but until they found him the possibilities were endless and gruesome.

Sam swallowed hard before raising his eyes to look at Dean again, grateful for the moment that his brother wasn't conscious. On one hand, he wanted to know what had happened, even just to confirm his fears, but he knew that if Dean woke and remembered anything he'd just become furious and demand they look for the angel at once.

"A nurse will come to check on him soon. The wards will hold, but a lock can only do so much." The words startled Sam from his thoughts, reminding him of the Angel's presence and dredging up panic. Where had his common sense gone? They'd been in Dean's room for maybe half an hour and he hadn't thought about the hospital staff. Camael spoke up again as Sam nearly toppled his flimsy chair in his hurry to stand. "You can stay with him until visitors' hours end. Then we'll have to move him or adopt disguises of authority figures. If asked, say that the salt is of religious importance to your brother."

With that the angel strode past the brothers and to the door, undoing the locks but leaving them attached to the door. "I can still see the true forms of angels and demons. If anyone is coming who shouldn't be here, I'll take care of them," she explained, rolling up the wrinkled sleeves of her dress shirt. Sam raised an eyebrow. When they'd arrived, Camael had looked ready to pass out, but there was a sharp glint in her stare. Still, something seemed out of place. It was the sleeves that reminded him. "Where do you keep your angel blade?" he inquired, ready to sit back down beside his brother. There were no large pockets visible on the black slacks, and as oversized as the angel's shirt was, her vest was fitted and left no hiding place.

Camael's jaw tightened. "The use of weapons raises the risk of death without intention. Unless I am required to destroy one of my siblings or lose every ounce of my own ability, I have no need for such tools, and I will not use them willingly." The bite of her words was enough to dissuade Sam from asking anything else, and he only nodded silently as she turned and left, closing the door carefully and leaving him in the company of the monitors and his thoughts.

One nurse did enter the room about twelve minutes after Camael disappeared, checking on Dean's vitals and administering an antibiotic that was being staggered from the scheduling of his other medications. Sam was grateful that the thin woman in scrubs hadn't taken interest in the salt borders or sigils, or given his brother more sedative. As much as he wanted to avoid the explosive reactions Dean was known for in times of family trouble, every minute he spent holed up in the room with a ticking clock and unconscious Dean was another sixty seconds that someone else had his hands on Castiel. If anything bad happened to the angel, heads would roll, and Sam had no doubt that his brother would find the most painful way to make that happen.

By the time Dean finally stirred, Sam's hair had dried out from his earlier shower and he had a cramp in his leg from sitting in the too-short folding chair he'd been provided. He tried not to hover over his brother's bed as his green eyes snapped open. Sam was ready to block Dean when he sat up, holding him back from his attempts to stand or swing punches. "This is the hospital Dean, nobody's here but me..." _'and Camael, but that's no comfort to you right now and she could be anywhere in the building,'_ he finished mentally.

The fierce panic subsided after a few seconds, and luckily nothing in the room set off an alarm. Sam pulled his arms away from his brother's shoulders, giving him an understanding look. "Um, I know you're not in the best shape," he started, clearing his throat, "but we need to work out what happened and get moving." Dean nodded, already pulling the antibiotic IV out of his arm, and tested the range of motion he had with his broken right wrist.

"Demon, called himself Cole Aaron- he knocked my baby around and after we flipped he grabbed Cas," Dean explained, only coughing once between words. Sam nodded, relieved that they at least had a name and species to go on, and asked gently, "What did he look like? Any chance he's using the name of the guy he's possessing and we can track him down that way?" Dean's face set into a thoughtful scowl, and after a long moment he shook his head, grumbling, "I didn't catch anything about his appearance, not that I can remember. I mean, I think he was wearing dark clothes, but other than him being a dude and demon... nada." His good hand was clenched in a fist that was probably drawing blood where his fingernails met the palm, and he looked like he'd have climbed out of bed and run that instant if Sam hadn't been beside him when he awoke.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, standing from the chair and pointing a thumb at the door. "I'm gonna go get us some coffee. Black?" This was going to be a long day and they might as well be caffeinated for it. Dean nodded, though he was preoccupied with prodding his broken nose. He knew his brother would be pissed if it set crooked. "Alright, I'll go then," he announced awkwardly, not quite wanting to leave Dean alone in the hospital room.

When Sam was out the door though, every step became easier (and quicker.) He managed to snag two foam cups of the least offensive-smelling brew in the cafeteria and swing back into Dean's hallway before the second hand on the wall clock made three revolutions. He also decided he'd been in the room with the ticking clock for far too long.

Stepping into the room, Sam announced himself, holding up the coffee cup he hadn't taken a sip from. Before he could even sigh he realized there was no one in the bed, and stepped back out the door to make sure he was in the right room. When he'd double checked and there was still no Dean, he cursed quietly and went to the bed, checking for traces of sulfur or busted apparatus that would indicate demonic or angelic company. The coffee was left on the table and ignored as he checked that the salt line around the bed was intact. If his brother was missing too, he really had no idea how he was going to remain sane through this hunt...


	8. Captive

Until Castiel opened his eyes to the empty white walls he hadn't remembered that he could do so. He ached and his head was swimming, and the angel would have sworn he was dead if he couldn't feel the crusted blood weighing down his hair and dried stiffly over one ear. He also felt the dry, frigid air biting his skin and a sharp sting where the silver shackles around his wrists touched the flesh. Sensation gave way to muddled thought, and a word rose up through the knot in his stomach and the sandpaper of his throat. "DEAN."

Cas winced at the weak crack in his voice, clearing his throat in an attempt to moisten the stinging desert. He couldn't see or hear Dean.

That was good because he might not be a captive.

It was bad because anything could be happening to him.

It was terrifying because unless he prayed, Cas might not hear his voice again.

It was wonderful because maybe Dean was okay and didn't need to pray.

Conflicted, the angel called out again, trying to implant confidence and challenge into the whisper of his voice; "Where is Dean?" There was no answer, and beyond the empty walls Cas could hear nothing but his own breathing echoing back. There was no door or window, no sigils were painted anywhere over the parchment-white walls and aside from the manacles and chains attaching them to the wall, the angel was the only object in the room. He couldn't even find the source of the freezing air that shifted and wrapped itself around him.

Castiel remembered the crash; he recalled the momentary feeling of flying before he was surged into darkness and pain, and Dean's voice calling his name once in the low tide before he'd slipped into total unconsciousness.

A dry breath rattled in his throat and threatened a painful coughing fit, and again he swept his eyes over the room. The dimension was at least twenty feet in length and width, but that wasn't what stood out.

It was still totally still and white, without even a touch of color or sound that didn't come from the angel himself. He wondered where the comfortless light was coming from. The heat was leaching from his extremities, and he could already feel a stiffness in his itching fingers.

Pulling his trenchcoat tighter around himself, Cas stood carefully, one hand on the wall where the chains to his handcuffs were attached. If he really tried, he could probably break them, but at the moment such strength evaded him. It took everything he had to remain standing when nausea swept over him and his vision clouded. It was minutes, or maybe hours, before any coherent thought swam to the surface of his murky mind, and the angel inched forward, staggering as far as the tethers on his wrists would allow.

He found that he could reach halfway across the room before he had to tug against his restraints or let his arms hang behind his back. It was when he sat in the off-center space, waiting for his captor to appear through one wall or another, that his senses were suddenly assaulted.

Every jangle of his chains was a cacophonous clanging. The lighting phased from adequate to blinding before plunging him into darkness and then repeating the cycle, and the angel was forced to close his eyes and cover them with the heels of his hands as a migraine gripped him. As still as he tried to remain, his own breathing was deafening, and a new sensation crashed into the space without warning or pretense.

The scent of rot and decay, overlaid with blood and something sour, slammed through him, and he could taste the tang of it all behind closed lips and clenched teeth. The harder he tried to block out the light and sound, the more the odor pressed in around him, and he was nearly choking on it when he finally fell, dropping his shackled hands to the floor as he held back the urge to retch. His cheek burned where it met the icy ground, but he couldn't force himself to stand, or even sit up, anymore.

All at once the scent and light faded and the frost turned to fire, and Cas' hair and clothing were soon sticking to his skin with sweat. He was too weak to shrug off his coat, instead digging in his pocket for the angel blade whose smooth surface didn't greet his reaching fingertips. Everything else on his person was present, from the spare button sewn in the coat's lining to the tens of crumpled receipts from the motel renovations in his left side pocket. Any strength Castiel had left was sapped in the humid heat. He wasn't sure how long he'd clung to consciousness before things fell into haze and silence, the dark, smoky stench of burning flesh invading his blood-crusted nostrils and suffocating him into sleep.

Blue eyes opened on a dark room. He could just make out the furnishings: there was a bureau or vanity table against one wall, the mirror cracked and an odd set of nail or claw marks down one side. A rolling cart stood mere feet from where he lay on his side against the concrete that smelled of blood and bile. It looked like the kind of thing you'd find at a hotel rather than the basement-turned-dungeon that this place appeared to promise in breathy whispers.

Thinking that he could find a tool or weapon among the provisions on the cart, Castiel scanned the room in its entirety before slowly pushing himself to his feet. It appeared to be the same size and shape as the other room, a slightly warped square with a high ceiling, and there was no one in sight.

The angels trudging steps scraped against something sticky and crushed a small brittle object, and Cas willed himself not to look at the floor as he shuffled along. He was relieved that the earlier pattern of tortures didn't seem to be repeating itself. He didn't want to know what a day in either extreme would do to his body, with or without his healing abilities.

As the angel reached for a handle on the door to the cart's inner shelving, a pronounced, drawn out crunch sounded to his left. Castiel turned toward the noise just before a hand closed around his own, the thumb digging sharply into his palm as it forced his wrist up and away from the cart.

"Ah ah ah," the hand's owner tutted. His smile was drawn too long beneath empty black eyes, and his dark hair looked oily and rough where it was gelled into place. "We can't have you playing with the equipment, Castiel. You'd ruin all the best surprises." The angel recognized only the menacing smirk of his captor, and he doubted it was the same man who'd attacked Dean and himself on the road. "Did you like the little hell preview? It's a new initiation process for souls down below, but I thought I'd test it on someone a little more interesting. You didn't disappoint." The cheer in his voice was sincere, and Cas held back the urge to curse him in Enochian.

The demon tilted his head to get a better look at Cas' face, a realization slowly dawning on his features. When he stood down, flinging the angel's wrist away from the cart he'd been reaching for, his smirk had melted into a stern frown. "You don't recognize me? I'm disappointed, Castiel," he sighed, putting every nuance of hurt on the words that still sounded hollow and wrong coming from a demon. Gesturing down the length of his black tracksuit as though he were only referring to the clothing, he added, "I'm still Cole in this fresh new suit."

 _Cole?_ Was he supposed to know that name? The demon hadn't announced himself before ramming his larger car into the impala, and everything after he'd crashed into the windshield was empty and faraway.

Cas fumed, hiding the fist he'd made of his right hand behind his hip until the demon glanced away. The angel felt his knuckles crash into Cole's jaw with more strength than he'd mustered since first waking in the white room, and he was satisfied with the three steps the demon had to stagger back after the impact. While his enemy was still stunned, Castiel dove for the cart, wrenching a door open and snatching out one of many concerning instruments. He held the scalpel tightly and inched away from his captor, digging the blade into the grooves where the sides of his shackles met.

The angel managed to pry the manacle off his sore left hand with only a nicked wrist before something like a thunderclap collided with the side of his head and sent him reeling to the floor. He lost track of the scalpel that flew out of his grip, and the second connection as his head hit the floor dashed whatever sense of direction he had away.

When everything had ceased spinning, Castiel found the scalpel again, its handle half hidden beneath the sole of a grey sneaker. Cole squatted down beside the angel, facing him with an expression of pity and disappointment. His eyes flickered back to the deep brown that belonged to his host body as he took up the fallen weapon and stroked the sharpened side of the blade against Castiel's cheek.

The feather-light scraping still drew blood, and Cas hissed in a breath as his shoulder was seized. Roughly he was forced onto his back, and a knee against his ribs encouraged him to remain still and silent. "I am not going to _kill_ you, Castiel," Cole professed, his voice subsequently the essence of mercy and cruelty, "Adriel's words were to have you, 'alive and broken in.'" There was a glint as the demon's eyes returned to black, and his unnerving smile inched back into place. "I'm going to _break_ you," he explained, nodding even as the angel glared at him. A moment later Cas struggled, flailing beneath the demon's grip and attempting to throw the taller man off. One hand rose to bat feebly at his assailant's neck and shoulder, but it was snatched and held in a vice grip as Cole hauled him up.

Just as Castiel got his footing, he was propelled back and shoved into the rough concrete wall. This time he was only held by a hand on his collar, and he stared as willfully as he could at the demon, who slipped his scalpel into a pocket. "If you'd just behave, we could get along without these extra measures," he sighed, flicking a finger at the fallen manacle a few yards away.

A moment later Cas was tethered to the wall by chains only a little over a foot long, and there was a bar connecting the cuffs encircling his wrists. He pulled against them and was pushed harder into the wall for his efforts. "Stop that," the demon hissed.

 _"Not until you tell me where Dean is."_ Both glares were equally fierce. Cas hoped the risk would pay off. He hadn't meant to reveal his endgame until he had the upper hand, but if he continued to aggravate the demon by struggling it seemed like he might be able to trade cooperation for information. And if he was careful about it, he could formulate a plan to escape and get to the hunter before anything happened.

Sam and Camael's names flashed through his mind, but he still held out hope that Cole didn't know where they were. Therefore he focused on Dean, whom he knew had been injured and who was more than likely another prisoner of the demon. When Cole only frowned sourly at him, Cas snapped, "What did you do to Dean?!"

"Calm yourself, feathers, he's not here. Dean Winchester is safe and sound in Nowheresville USA. Probably drinking and hunting and living it up without _you_ around to look after."

Taking a cue from Castiel's apparent consternation, Cole patted the angel's shoulder too softly, giving him another smile. This time it matched the cruel, knowing glint in his eyes as he drew a small revolver from his pocket. "There, there. We'll have the fight right out of you," he assured, leveling the weapon's barrel with Cas' chest and pulling down the hammer.

"And then I'll make you understand that the Winchesters don't have any use for a broken angel." Without another word, Cole depressed the trigger and stepped away to watch Castiel fall and writhe on the ground. "Huh," the demon chirped, a curious smile all too real on his stolen face, "This angel blade ammo's really something."

Cas curled in on himself, trying desperately to reach his grace and dig the foreign but familiar object from the lung it was lodged in. He gasped for breath and attempted with twitching hands to dig the bullet out manually, but every motion meant further agony. The angel could feel his grace pull away and eventually everything became static and darkness except for the throbbing pain in his chest.


	9. AARP: Angelic Auto Repair Program

WHERE THE HELL WAS DEAN?! He couldn't have been taken so quickly without a trace of magic! Just before Sam gave in to the idea of asking an angel or demon to find his brother, the door to the room's small bathroom was jolted open. Dean waltzed through, nudging the door with his hip so that he didn't touch the germ-infested surface directly, and raised an eyebrow at his brother's gaping, fish out of water expression. "Goddammit, Dean, you almost gave me an ulcer!" Sam snapped as Dean shrugged, feigning innocence. "Dude, those paper bags aren't clothes. I needed to change."

Dean's own clothes were stained with blood, dirt and what looked like the remnants of an apple pie, and Sam was surprised they hadn't been thrown out by hospital staff. "You're going to try and leave the hospital dressed like _that_?" the taller brother complained, shaking his head, "I brought you a change of clothes, you know, for if you would have waited instead of going into panic mode every time you wake up in a hospital." The words had little bite, but Sam's begrudging understanding was challenged when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sammy. Cas needs us right now and I'm not gonna waste time on clean clothes while that demon has his hands on him." Dean fumed, snatching up the coffee cups and holding the lighter one back out to Sam. "Drink up and let's get moving," he ordered. Sam didn't miss the shake in his older brother's hands as he struggled to hold himself still.

The older Winchester absently scratched at a particularly large patch of dried apple pie goo on his jacket when Sam took his coffee. Dean immediately downed at least a third of his own cup in a single motion before wincing and rubbing at the part of his right hand that he could reach through the splint.

When he caught Sam watching him, though, he complained, "This coffee's harsh, man, might as well be drinking caffeinated dirt." Dean would probably swallow a few aspirin on the drive but otherwise refuse to acknowledge his injuries. Though he wanted to heave a sigh and lecture the green-eyed hunter, Sam managed to hold off, giving him an understanding look. "Alright, Dean. I guess we'll get rid of the wards and find Camael on the way out?"

Dean's jaw was set, and his muttered response was made through gritted teeth. "Unless she can find Cas faster'n we can, I'm not lookin' for her. She hasn't done anything to help us or prove we can trust her. Hell, for all we know she's the reason Cas is gone!" Sam gripped his brother's shoulder, stopping his path to the door, and only let go when he stopped trying to shrug him off. "Come on, Dean," he sighed, scrubbing at the anti-angel trap on the window with a wet compress, "you know better than that. I get that you're worried about Cas, we both are, but he's not just our friend. He's Camael's brother too. And she got me here to find you, plus she's probably able to sense his grace-"

"Alright, enough with the convincing. Just grab the angel or call her or something and let's get out of here before anything more craptastic can happen," Dean demanded, already pulling open the door and glancing out into the hallway. When it was clear, he led the way down the hall and to a stairwell while Sam kept an eye out for Camael or anyone who might ask questions. Sam didn't point out that Dean hadn't packed or demanded food, they had no car and the angel they had access to didn't carry a blade.

Things were tensely quiet until they got to the ground floor, where a fleet of gurneys and pounding feet were ferrying the victims of what the two overheard was a bus crash just off the highway. Dean had a fierce glimmer in his eye that Sam recognized as vengeful hope for the lead that the tragedy could be. He wanted it to be a clue as well, but the thoughtless hate on his brother's face concerned him. Sure, Cole probably deserved to die for the things he'd already done, but Sam didn't want Dean to draw on his time in hell in order to torture him. He also didn't want the path to the demon to be paved in dead innocents.

In the chaos of rushing bodies, one doctor stood stock still against the wall beside the main entrance, watching silently over the procession until the Winchesters appeared. Her white lab coat was pristine where it was wrapped tightly around her torso, concealing the clothing beneath, but there were blonde strands of hair littering the collar and shoulders, and the sleeves were rumpled. The hard set of her green eyes behind a familiar pair of glasses fixed on Sam and Dean, and she nodded almost imperceptibly in their direction. When the brothers walked through the front doors, she followed a beat behind.

"Umm, Camael?" Sam questioned, glancing from the brother who was speed-walking and ignoring anything behind him to the short blonde woman. The angel raised an eyebrow at him before nodding again. "I had to jump ship," she explained, cracking her neck, "I haven't been able to find my next true vessel since I lost the last one, but since I've been losing some steam they've started to last longer before rejecting me. Irene will recover." The nametag pinned to her labcoat read 'Doctor Marie Ellison,' so Sam assumed she was talking about her previous vessel. He hated to think of the vessels being burned through like Lucifer's, even if they would heal over time.

"Right..." He nodded dumbly before returning his attention to the hair on the angel's shoulders and what remained on her head. "Did you cut that yourself?" he asked, squinting a bit at the close-cropped, asymmetrical style that fit with Dean's 'hipster' description. It was really unprofessional and looked like it had been done in a hurry. "I don't like hair to touch my neck or shoulders, so I removed it," the angel explained. "Marie won't mind, I think." Sam ran his fingers through the long hairs on his neck, chuckling, "I actually like mine longer nowadays. It reminds me that time's passing, and-"

"Let's just paint each other's nails and share tampon stories, why don't we?!" Dean snapped, turning sourly on his heel to glare at his companions. "We need transportation, Sam, and unless short, scruffy and flightless can still fed-ex us around that means we need to find a car, fast." As much as Sam hated it, Dean wasn't going to come out of crisis mode any time soon and everyone around him would have to adjust to the fast-paced, no-sleep slogging that would get them to their goal mostly in one piece.

"Why don't we take the Impala?" Camael questioned, pushing up the glasses that were too large on the new vessel's thin nose. "It should be repaired soon." The elder Winchester gave her a look of disbelief, and he complained, "How are you gonna fix her when your batteries are too empty to get us anywhere?" The angel rolled her eyes and pulled a cell phone from her- Marie's- pocket, wagging it in a smug fashion. "I called in a favor to a brother who stayed topside after the fall. He promised to have the car ready by six, which passed while your brother was still waiting on you to get up. So, want me to take a look at that gimpy wrist, or do I get to drive?"

Dean's glare could kill. No one drove the Impala without his express trust and permission. That trust would be a little closer when his baby was returned unharmed, but he was still in no mood to become buddies with an angel whose job it was to murder people, divine judgement notwithstanding. At least she wasn't talking like a thesaurus anymore. Silently he held out his arm, letting Camael unwrap the splint and grip his wrist as though checking his pulse for a moment.

A few seconds later he pulled away, shaking his hand like he'd been burned, and glared at Camael again. "What the hell was that for?" The angel chuckled and gave him a brow-raised 'you know what that was for' look, answering, "They didn't set the bone right and I didn't feel that until I'd healed it once, so I had to rebreak it and heal again... Next time quit being a bitch about everything. I'm being nice because you're Castiel's favorite, but watch yourself."

Sam had kept his distance during the spat, wishing the angel whom Camael had called would show up with the Impala so they could get on the road, but he heard her words. "I'm pretty sure the favoritism is mutual," he complained, referring to his constant state of third-wheeling the dynamic duo. He expected Dean to defend himself snappily, and true to form hunter griped, "The guy's like an all-powerful puppy, Sam, it's not favoritism to be more concerned about the guy who's liable to get himself killed saving a bird or thinking twice about ganking somebody."

Neither the younger hunter nor the short angel said anything for a long moment, though Sam was holding back a laugh, and when Camael broke the silence it was curt. "The Chevrolet has arrived."

Dean practically gave himself whiplash turning to follow the green-eyed stare, and he rushed over to inspect his baby for scratches or dents while his companions looked on with varying levels of resignation. A scruffy man in a black t-shirt and jeans shuffled over to where the onlookers stood, pulling Camael in for what looked like an unwanted hug. She merely patted her brother's back lightly, stepping away as quickly as possible to look over the bearded, dark-eyed vessel. "Well met, Jhudiel. I see you still have an affinity for nacho chips," she observed, wrinkling her nose at the unkempt, stained clothing he was wearing.

"Helps me fit in," Jhudiel chuckled, "and I have to say, humans know a thing or two about salt." Sam was hovering awkwardly, trying not to be the third wheel in the sibling reunion or his brother's car investigation. He was startled when Camael took his arm and quite literally dragged him into the conversation. She seemed eager to get her brother to talk to someone else. "Jhudiel, this is Samuel Winchester. Samuel, my brother Jhudiel. He was one of the later Archangels who, like myself, is often excluded from theology, until he decided to stay on Earth after the fall. He chose to become a Cherubim, and he owns a..."

The angel trailed off, expression souring as she came up with the proper word, "... speed dating bar." Jhudiel nodded proudly, adding, "It's a lot more rewarding than all the bureaucratic nonsense going on upstairs."

"Right," Sam muttered, looking to where Dean was inspecting the interior of the Impala. "I think we should get going, or Dean's going to drive off without us. It was nice to meet you though, uh, Judiel." The bearded angel snatched Sam's hand and pumped it in a rough handshake, replying, "Likewise, Mister Winchester. We hear a lot about your family over angel radio... good work."

With a nod to Sam, Camael pulled her brother aside, out of earshot, and started speaking to him in a muttered tone. He wasn't really trying to eavesdrop, but he caught a frightened look on the Cherubim's face, followed by a whisper that looked like, "He hasn't," before they really went quiet. The blonde angel nodded and turned away, the stern glare ever present behind her lenses, as her brother attempted to offer a parting hug.

In another moment, Jhudiel was gone, and Camael heaved a loud sigh. "What, you don't like to see your relatives except at the holidays?" Sam joked on his way to the passenger's side of the car. "No. I don't speak to many angels unless we have business, and I'm not an advocate of affection, familial or otherwise." She shrugged out of the white labcoat, shaking off the blonde hairs and dorito crumbs, and Sam noted that she was wearing her old outfit with the purple striped vest despite it being almost too small for the slightly taller new vessel.

"You really don't have more normal clothes, do you?" he sighed, buckling into his seatbelt as Dean hit the gas. Camael was silent, but he could see her grumpy expression in the rear-view mirror as she fumbled with one of the belts for the back seat and tried not to slide into the door while Dean was turning out of the parking lot.

Sam had almost thought that Dean wouldn't want to drive the Impala. He himself still felt a sickening lurch at images of the accident, and he was trying not to look at places that had been bloody or damaged when the news had shown the battered car earlier. He wasn't really sure how the Cherubim had gotten the Impala away without making a scene, but he was grateful that Dean seemed to retain a bit of normality thanks to it.

"First things first," Dean announced, "Where the hell are we going?" Sam's heart sank... sure, the accident was nearby, and they could check where that bus had crashed, but if they wanted to find Castiel they needed more than a hunch.

"Did somebody ring hell?" came a familiar voice from the back seat. Dean floored the brakes and whipped around while Sam was already staring. Camael had a hand around the demon's neck before either brother could stop her, and they may have waited a few seconds longer than strictly necessary to say that he wasn't an enemy, strictly speaking. "Well, Moose, Not Moose, and Very Not Moose," the king of hell coughed, "as much as I hoped you'd replace good old Cas, I'm afraid I've received a little news that makes me think your Spartan here isn't an intern."

"What news?" Dean demanded before either of his passengers could react. Crowley's prideful smirk was in place, assuring the hunters that the information would cost them. "I happened to hear through the grapevine," the demon answered, deliberately ignoring the fuming, green-eyed hunter in the driver's seat, "that an enterprising bastard among my flock has taken to making deals with heaven's little soldiers." He spared a glance for Camael, who looked ready to smite him then and there, before continuing.

"Specifically, my informant told me that a newcomer to hell's little family, Cole Aaron, was hired by an angel to round up our little Christmas tree-topper." Crowley's expression was calculated, but his lips twitched when no one in the car looked surprised to hear the name. "Come now, I'll think you boys are cheating on me," he jested, "but to business, before Squirrel has an aneurysm... I'm offering you the location of the insufferable rat, on the condition that when you find him, you take a certain book from his ill-gotten library and bring it to me."

If Sam had to guess, the book in question would be something that could be used against the hunters or angels, but he didn't think Dean would bother trying to trick Crowley into giving the information away or bargaining when Cas' life was on the line. He was wrong.

"If you think we're gonna promise some book we haven't even seen and go somewhere just because you say that's where the guy is..." Dean shook his head firmly. "You're coming with us, and you can get the book yourself... OR we can leave you with the 'Spartan' while we go get everything." The demon rolled his eyes, and Sam hoped he knew that Dean wasn't going to back down. "Fine, we'll have a merry little band," Crowley grumbled, "but I get first pick of anything else he's keeping in that place of his... excepting, of course, your wife, Squirrel."

Dean's glare wasn't severe enough to make Crowley reword his sentence. After a moment, he continued, "Simmer down and drive Dean. It's a long way to Florida."

It was silent except for the roar of the engine.


	10. Restless Heart

The Impala was a thousand miles from Florida State lines when Crowley appeared. With a little of his aid, the distance was chopped down to three-hundred in a fraction of the time it would have taken traditionally. It was as far as Dean would trust the demon to take them, however, and he declared that for the rest of the journey he'd drive. Another fifty-seven minutes and a rest stop later the hunter started to feel a migraine forming deep in his skull.

Dean tried to ignore the throbbing pulse behind his eyes, but in the process of shutting out everything but the road he'd ignored Sam's 'concerned little bro' voice three times. "Dean, I asked if you're alright?" his brother repeated, shaking his shoulder a bit. "Yeah, fine and dandy," Dean lied, gripping the steering wheel too tightly as it blurred to a shadowy curve in his vision.

Everything faded into the background again when his left shoulder started to feel numb and he focused on ignoring both the pins and needles that followed and his headache. He jerked his arm once as it started to burn just beneath the skin, and the Impala pitched sharply into the right lane. By sheer luck no cars were close enough to crash into before he corrected the error, but his brother demanded he take an aspirin and a break. "You're not going to be of any use to Cas if you can't stand up, Dean," Sam complained, "or if you crash us on the highway."

It still took miles of argument and erratic driving before he relented and allowed Sam to take the wheel. When he slouched against the passengers' seat, having swallowed three acetaminophen tablets and a fifth of bourbon from a seedy liquor store, his ears were ringing and the shoulder had become numb again. He could faintly hear Sam and Camael discussing whether or not Dean would need stronger medication or healing, and his brother mentioned Jhudiel, but the angel said something about his cherubim status and Dean dozed off before he heard them agree on anything. At least Crowley was being quiet.

The room was humid, vast, and pitch-dark excepting a five yard radius illuminated by a single overhead bulb. Castiel was standing mere feet from Dean... if you could call a slumped, doubled-over stance truly standing. Brick-colored stains covered his shirt from their source in the center of his chest to where two buttons were missing at the bottom, and small slashes were riddled throughout his clothing. His trenchcoat and tie were nowhere to be seen.

He didn't move or speak, and Dean stepped to his side in an instant, keeping a hand in front of the angel to make sure he wouldn't tip over. "Hey! Cas, what the hell happened?" he demanded, putting his free hand on his friend's shoulder and trying to get him to raise his head.

What fazed Dean wasn't the purple bruising latticed with small cuts on the angel's face, but his eyes. They were dull, tired, and entirely too human for the ethereal being stooped before him. "Dean...?" Cas mumbled, hardly raising those squinted, empty eyes to the hunter's face. Recognition was plain under the haze of blue that used to be vibrant and naive. "Yeah, it's me, buddy... You okay?" The bloodstains on Castiel's clothing looked horrible, but they were at least a day old. It didn't make sense for an angel, but he got the feeling the man was more exhausted than injured.

Cas' right hand floated limply up from his side, landing more or less on Dean's left shoulder. "Dean, I need... to tell you- where..." His grip faltered and the angel scrambled to remain upright, clutching Dean's arm too tightly. The hunter put his hand over Castiel's, trying to hold him up, and ignored the urge to force him to sit and rest.

The angel spoke again, explaining himself with few breaks or harsh coughs between his words. "I overheard him speaking to someone... it's an empty hotel, old by the sound of it. It's warded so that nothing inside can be sensed by angels, but this room was made to look like a basement. It is not below ground, Dean. It's called the Bell-" Suddenly the angel turned away from Dean, staring wide-eyed at something in the darkness that surrounded them.

"GO!" Castiel shouted, shoving the hunter away with the last of his strength before collapsing to the black floor.

Dean didn't want to run, but something in the frantic tone of Cas' voice told him he should listen to the angel's order. His arm was on fire and he couldn't breathe, but the hunter pushed himself onward, not stopping until his eyes snapped open to the sight of a busy gas station and his brother filling the tank with premium. The ache in his neck at waking against the passenger's seat told him this was the real world. So it had been a dream...

A phantom grip clutched his shoulder weakly as Cas' gruff voice echoed in his head. 'DEAN.'

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So~ This is the tenth chapter in this story. I know it's short, but I wanted the dream to be separate so I could write more into the scenes directly after Dean wakes without forcing a 3,000 word chapter. Plus the lovely guest who reviewed deserved an update but I haven't had time to finish the next bit.

I also hadn't put in any author's notes before now, so as to not detract from the story.

However- I'd love some input from you guys since we're getting into the double-digits. Reviews really encourage me to write as well as make me happy and I'm also open for suggestions as to characters and creatures to include. I wouldn't mind some sensible pairing suggestions, background or otherwise, in addition. (I'm subtle with romance though.)

I should be able to get the next chapter done tomorrow, and then expect another from Cas' perspective before the big showdown.

If you guys like, I'll start replying to reviews at the bottom of chapters, especially if you have questions.

Thanks for reading,

Crow


	11. Free Will and Pancakes

Within a minute or so Dean was fully awake, and it felt as though he'd slept off the booze and painkillers that had kept him numb. The ache in his limbs was almost comforting as it confirmed that the pounding migraine that had put him out of commission was no longer plaguing him. Or maybe the headache had been Cas trying to get through to him before he fell asleep, and its absence was disconcerting. Either way, Sam needed to know where they were headed, especially if the place Cas had been describing wasn't in the direction Crowley was leading them.

"Good morning, Winchester. Nice of you to join us." The stern voice from the back seat made him turn around to glare at Camael and snap, "Do you live to bitch at me, Cam?" It was hot and stuffy in the car then, which made Dean testy, and he moved to pull his jacket off and turn back around before she could spit a comeback at him.

The angel bristled at the nickname and seized the hunter by the lapel of his coat. "People who endanger my brother do not have the right to call me anything except my full name. Now, you were asleep for four hours and the demon bailed when Samuel told him you weren't going to trade the book he wants for the other demon's address," she hissed, looking him in the eye with the same flatness as ever despite the rage in her voice. "I followed the demon, but was unable to keep up. Speak with your brother so he will stop fretting about how pissed off you're going to be about it."

Dean noted the vacant seat where Crowley had been when he'd fallen asleep. He didn't fully trust the angel, and while he was pretty sure Sam wouldn't have let her gank the demon in the back of the car while he was out, it wasn't impossible. Crowley'd pissed a lot of people off. "It is alive," the angel muttered flatly, her frown almost indecipherable. He sighed as Camael promptly released him, watching her climb out of the car and slam the door before marching toward the convenience store segment of the Gas 'n' Sip. If that door had to be repaired, she was paying.

"Sammy!" he shouted, popping open the passenger door and stepping out into the dark lot smoothly for a guy who'd just dozed his way through four hours of highway and toll bridges. He peeled off his jacket, resisting the desire to fling the garment over the head of the angel who was storming off. Hardly pausing to stretch his cramped legs, Dean announced, "I've got a bead on Cas. He's being held in some abandoned hotel called Bell-something."

Sam glanced away from the gas pump, the look of surprise and relief on his face melting into resign as he spotted Dean's expectantly raised eyebrows. "You want me to look it up?" he sighed, not bothering to react as his brother gave him a thumbs up. "Fine, but that means finding Wi-fi, which is rare around here, and I want to get out of Miami before we run into something worse than demons."

Dean understood the sentiment. He'd been to Miami a couple of times, not that Sammy would know of, and it was a hotbed for all the kinds of wrongs that turned people into addicts or got them killed. Even if you were travel savvy, you'd be hard-pressed to find a place where someone spoke fluent English as well. "Whatever," Dean conceded with a shrug, "I'm gonna need breakfast too, so we'll stop in once we get there..." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "If we're in Miami already... did you let Crowley do something?"

Sam's nod was slight and hesitant. "I didn't really let him. He said something about Key West, and how we were taking too long, so he just poofed us this far. I told him we weren't going here for his sake, and that we weren't even going to think about his book until we found Cas, and he left in a- demonic huff. He also said he'd say hi to Cas for you, but now I'm pretty sure you two aren't talking about the same place." He frowned, explaining when Dean only stared at him, "Crowley was talking about an estate with a library and some garden, not a hotel. If we're lucky, they're in the same area, or at least the same state. If not..." Sam glanced hopefully in the direction of the mini mart, where Camael was emerging with less of a stomp in her step than when she'd gone inside. "Maybe she can get us close... but how do you know all this about Cas?" His brother replaced the nozzle on the gas pump to its rightful place and closed the Impala's gas cap before looking to him for an answer.

Dean wanted to change the subject, to avoid both reliving the dream and letting Sam know how bad the angel's situation might be. He was gifted with a distraction when Camael approached with no bags in her arms from the shop. The hunter stared for a long moment before he put two and two together. "Did you just have to take a leak?" he asked furiously, "Exactly how human are you?"

"I'm sorry, I thought we were all more concerned with Castiel than my bathroom habits," Camael snapped, staring Dean down indignantly, "I'm not going to look for my grace until my brother is safe. As long as I have any grace at all, which I have if you hadn't noticed, I won't become human, and I'm no worse off than yesterday. It's just more taxing to use it and I have to indulge in mortal activities to maintain my vessels." She ran a hand through the short blonde hair of her temporary vessel and shook her head. "And I would have bought snacks, but my wallet's in my other body's pants. They wouldn't stay up over Marie's bony hips and I forgot to retrieve my things," she grumbled with a scowl.

Sam was obviously holding in a laugh at the angel's almost normal discontent with her body and Dean couldn't help but smirk and reply, "Well, if you eat as much as the rest of us, they won't be bony for long." He offered one of the safer false credit cards that they only used for food and toiletries, and the angel swiped it without a word. "If you forget the pie, you're riding in the trunk!" he called, receiving only a raised middle finger in reply before Camael disappeared into the shop. His smile faded the instant she was out of sight. He moved around to the driver's side and bristled at the knowing look Sam was giving him from the other end of the car. "What?"

"Nothing... It's just- you already decided you're not going to let Cam stay once we get Cas back, didn't you?" Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes at his brother's accusatory tone, and answered honestly, "Yeah, Sammy. We've got our family, and that's you, me and Cas. Sometimes other people worm their way in to honorary sibling status, like Charlie, but that angel isn't one of them..." He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, adding, "Okay, maybe it's not decided that she'd never be a really annoying little sister, but Cas is gonna be the one to decide whether she's gotta go. I'm not gonna trust somebody we hardly know just 'cause she claims to care about Cas. And don't get me wrong, but I doubt she's gonna want to stay, even if the eye candy's irresistible."

Dean waggled his eyebrows, returning to the safe distraction of humor as Sam chuckled mirthlessly. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the pair got into the car silently, Dean turning on the radio and tuning to a classic rock station before buckling his seatbelt. Sam stared out the window at nothing in particular while his brother drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and both avoided saying anything that might start an argument.

The rear passenger door flew open, then shut again in an instant, and an out-of-breath voice snapped, "Floor it, Winchester!" from the backseat. Sam twisted in his seat to look at Camael, who was clutching two plastic bags in a death grip and not taking her eyes off the entrance to the gas station mart. Moments later a patron stumbled out, black eyes fixing on the Impala and smoke rising from his singed hair, and Dean obliged the angel's request for speed as another demon joined the first.

It wasn't until the trio was two miles away that anyone spoke. "Pass me the pie," Dean demanded, holding a hand back. The snack was slapped into his palm almost violently, and Camael grumbled under her breath, "Goddammit, I hate Miami."

Dean wasn't surprised that Camael was familiar with the city; she probably had assignments there once a week. Said assignments were a big part of his reluctance to accept the angel, so he felt no shame asking, "What happens to your job now that you're running on fumes?" He saw the angel's shrug in the rearview as she dug through one of the bags, obviously more interested in finding the pizza-flavored combos than his words.

"There is no deadline for my work. As long as I do not give up my status as an angel completely or betray Heaven, my work is my own and I will take care of it as quickly as possible. Though, to be honest I can see how the Hunters' side of the equation could be more efficient. I'm not allowed to judge those who haven't been assigned, nor am I permitted to kill them unless threatened with great bodily harm. It can be... questionable." She inhaled a handful of pretzels, countering her unsettled tone with a bland expression.

Dean nodded, taking a bite of the slightly crappy piece of pecan pie in his lap. "You bet your bony ass it's questionable," he agreed loudly, ignoring Sam's awkward cough that was trying to alert him not to refer to the ass of the executioner angel, "You don't even ask who's giving you the orders, you just listen like a good little soldier and hope your family's gonna accept you. Well I'll tell you what, it won't work, no matter how many thousands of years you've been trying and how many more you've got. If you don't start thinking for yourself, like Cas, and us, and the rest of the people out there who are actually trying to be happy in their short little lives, you're gonna have nothing when you bite the dust except your track record and the knowledge that you could have had somethin' better."

Sam ignored his turkey wrap and complained at his brother in a whisper, "What the hell happened to letting the angel do her own thing?" Dean shook his head again, shooting back, "I can't watch people make the same mistakes we did, Sam. Maybe it works for the dickbags in heaven to have no concept of family or what's right, but I can't work with somebody who'd die for something they don't believe in just 'cause they've been told to. Especially not when that person's supposed to be there for Cas. Like it or not, she's a temporary part of this family."

The words he didn't want to say spilled out, and if Camael studied him harshly, he ignored it. A long moment later, she answered, "I can hear everything you're saying, and just so you know, I have no intention of interfering in your 'family.' Whether you two accept me has no bearing on my self-worth or ability to do my job. That said, I am extending my trust to you and I would suggest that you do the same lest your safety depend on my aid."

The brothers exchanged a look of resigned confusion, and Sam broke the following silence before Dean could put his foot in his mouth again. "So, if we wanted you to stay, you would? And you'd leave just as easily?" he questioned. A positive answer would be a sign of loyalty, something they could stand to have more of on their side. Camael nodded dismissively before replying, "As an angel I am to do what I can for humanity, and if I may be of aid to those in Castiel's charge, I am more than willing to take the time... once he is returned to you and I locate my true vessel of course."

Her answer was coldly logical, but at least it sounded like she wanted to help, which was good enough for now. "Alright, we're gonna head for pancakes and wifi just out of the city," Dean announced. Sam gave him a weary look, complaining, "Dean, it's almost one in the morning. Any place serving pancakes right now is about as credible as a drug dealer's free candy." Dean laughed aloud, slapping his brother's shoulder lightly, and rebuked, "The unretractable rules of the road Sammy, nothin's free and there are always pancakes."

"Unretractable isn't a word, Dean."

"It is now."


	12. Whiskey and Angel Air

His brother was tucking smugly into his second plate of 'endless' pancakes when Sam finally got the wifi connection password from their waitress, whose English seemed to be limited to words on the second-rate diner's menu and a repeated, 'Yes, I get.' They'd found the small restaurant after a half hour on the highway, when Dean had turned off at the wrong exit in search of a Waffle House, and so far Sam wasn't impressed by the flies, sluggish service and odd aromas that had flooded around them when he'd opened the front door. Dean's pancakes were only five dollars though, and there was a forgivably offensive spinach omelette beside Sam's laptop that at least looked like it had real eggs in it somewhere.

He sighed and filled out the wifi code, only letting his shoulders droop when the lower right corner of his screen showed a moderate connection to the web. He swiftly cut a triangle from his omelette with a thin, mostly-clean fork and chewed the mediocre bite as he pulled up a browser. The spinach had to be days past its prime, but the taste was mostly covered up by chalky melted cheese, so he was able to swallow without putting Dean in vegetables-are-the-enemy mode. Sam grimaced inwardly and set his fork down with the care of a man who wanted it as far away as possible without breaking anything. He typed 'Hotel Bell' into the searchbar and tapped the enter key as a waiter dropped a plate meant for the only other occupied table in the small building and someone shrieked in surprise.

"The pancakes don't stop 'til I do, Sammy," Dean boasted from across the table where he was dousing flaccid beige hotcakes in 'maple' syrup that poured like the sugar water it was and evacuated to the edges of the plate. His pride seemed dampened by the fact that the pancakes were really bad and he only got five strips of bacon, but Sam still found that his brother was enjoying having been right about finding pancakes after midnight. His stomach churned at the scent of pancake syrup and margarine, though.

"Got it! The Bellgrad Resort, Key West Florida... Cole really likes to keep his property over there," Sam announced, scrolling intently through a webpage. "It says here it sold just over a year ago to Cole Aaron, a realtor and art collector who intends to open it as an 'authentic haunted destination,' to add to the plethora the Key already has. No word on the status, except that construction started on an additional wing and he's supposed to be researching the haunted past of the place for a lore book he's putting out on it." That was a lot of information for one dig. Maybe, even with the blatant displays, the demon thought he was too sly to be found out by hunters. Or maybe this was just as blatant a trap; it seemed that the article on Aaron's intent had been up for at least two months, though...

Dean shook his head, mumbling through a mouthful of bacon, "At least there's money in the supernatural for the guys who aren't actually dealing with it all the time." His almost pouting assertion was followed by the addition of a hefty forkful of scrambled egg to the ranks of half-chewed bacon crowding his brother's mouth. When had he even ordered all that?

"Um, Dean? You do know that Key West is an island, right?" The hunter stopped chewing and stared at his brother, the 'duh' that he couldn't voice through scrambled eggs plain on his face. "And you know that means that unless we can get an angel or demon to transport us, we have to leave the car and hop on a plane to get there?" Dean swallowed roughly, shaking his head. "I ain't leavin' my baby here right after we got her fixed up. Airport parking garages are no place for a man's pride and joy, Sammy."

Despite his brother's misplaced sense of loyalty, Sam had to admit he had a point. They could very well need the car while in the Key. Maybe if Cam could-

The brunette furrowed his brow and shifted to look over the screen of his laptop toward the grimy restrooms. Camael had disappeared into one of them the moment the group had arrived, complaining that a half bag of combos and an entire pack of sour gummy worms might not have been a better choice than waiting for the diner. Sam understood the angel's reluctance to eat at the shabby cafe, but the disharmonic combination she'd scarfed on the drive would have made most humans sick pretty quickly. She was probably just too stubborn to admit similarity to humanity and would eat the same thing again to prove she could do it without barfing.

"Dean, has Cam been out of the bathroom yet?" Concern had edged its way into his voice; puking your guts out in a germ-infested roadside eatery was a crappy way to spend a late night, especially when you were usually immune to indigestion and probably had a sharp sense of smell. Dean shook his head, finally swallowing his wad of assorted foodstuffs and chasing it with a sour gulp of hot coffee. "Nah, not since we got here. She's not out by the time I'm done eating, you can send the waitress who likes to get things after 'er..." His tone took on a warning as he added, "And her name's Camael. Anything shorter's liable to get you throttled."

Sam's confusion dropped away at Dean's grin, and the hunter shook his head, trying not to laugh. "First-hand experience there, Dean? You could make pissing off angels an olympic sport." His brother grumbled like he was offended, but he was still beaming until a pale shape plummeted into the booth beside Sam. Camael was hunched in on herself a bit, her chin resting on the table and labcoat pulled taut around her shoulders. "I need something to drink- scotch if they've got it, bourbon if they haven't."

Scotch? The bitter angel didn't seem like a drinker in the least. Sobriety was part of her iron pretense, along with the no-nonsense emptiness of her eyes which now stared deliberately at a standing menu. Sam ran a hand through the hair on the back of his neck, suggesting, "Shouldn't you get some food back in your system before you start on hard liquor? I mean, if you can get sick you'll probably end up drunk too." Camael shook her head minutely, burying her face in her sleeves. "No food," she complained. Sam closed his laptop after writing down the address of the Key West property and asked the waitress for 'scotch or bourbon' as directed. He supposed they could talk shop after she had a drink.

Five minutes later the angel had downed half a bottle of cheap whiskey and was invading the brothers' personal space to tell them a joke about Castiel's favorite color. "Ever since the whole Apocalypse thing it's been hunter green... get it?" she jested, slapping Sam's shoulder and reaching across the table to fail at punching Dean playfully.

By the time Dean finished his third plate of pancakes, she'd ordered another bottle and both sober parties were uncomfortable with the intoxicated angel's zoning out and muttering.

It was when Camael began petting Sam's hair and telling him how majestic he would look if he got turned into a meerkat that he decided to gently scoot her away and take the angel's alcohol. "Any more and you're liable to poison yourself," he warned, holding the bourbon out of Camael's reach as she tried in vain to grab it again. In a moment she'd passed out on the table. Sam and Dean shared a 'what the hell?' look and the former tried to place a napkin under the angel's head where it was nearly lying in a splotch of what was probably syrup once, shrugging helplessly at Dean.

"What's wrong with Top Cat?" Dean hissed, falling back on the nickname he'd given the pissed angel hardly 24 hours ago. Sam noted how quickly everything had gone to hell, hopefully not literally, and inched away from the snoozing Camael to try and respond somewhat privately. "I don't know if it's a grace thing, a possibly insane thing or just a bad day... I mean, I've seen angels drink, but never get blackout drunk and start telling people they'd make majestic meerkats." Dean chortled loudly and reached for a strip of bacon that Sam was sure hadn't come with his meal- five dollar pancakes were starting to look like an expensive mash up of however much food his brother could scarf in one sitting, not to mention the whole fifth of whiskey. "Yeah, well, you're responsible for sobering 'er up since you let her get the bourbon," the green-eyed hunter delegated, chowing down on his bacon. Sam sighed and waved the waitress over, ordering a plain cheese omelette and sending back the foul spinach one.

Camael only startled out of her drunken nap when the waitress appeared with a fourth plate of pancakes for Dean and Sam's omelette. "That looks good," the angel muttered, staring blearily at the mediocre plate of egg and cheese. "Two of those and some buttered white toast please... And coffee." Following the order she gave a fake half smile and massaged her temple with a thumb. The waitress nodded, writing quickly before turning away, and Camael found herself under a flat stare from Sam. "What? Never seen a hungry angel before, Winchester? And my head hurts like a bitch- did I hit it on the friggin' toilet?"

What. The fuck.


	13. Breaking an Angel

This chapter is for the lovely guest reviewer who wanted to see some more of Adriel. Thank you for reviewing~!

Originally I was going to leave him out until the Cole plot was resolved, but when he was mentioned I decided it would be more fun to have both villains in play at once, especially as they're so different. After this we've got another chapter from Sam's point of view and then finally some Cas and Dean again.

Please read and review, especially if you want to see a character, pairing or side-plot in the story~

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Adriel was not an imbecile, not like that cocky young demon he'd hired to take care of the grunt work. This time heaven would not stop him from doing what he was meant to. The accidents had been his warning to Castiel and Camael, the traitorous siblings who'd dragged him to rot in heaven's dungeon while the true criminals, the factions, went free. Now he would do his duty. Adriel was a wrathful angel, one who'd made a name for himself by smiting the wicked without the bureaucratic blessing of the Archangels, but he was damn good at his job.

He was a free man when the angels fell, living wherever he pleased and putting down those who didn't deserve the embrace of mother earth with or without his wings. Humans were pathetic, despicable creatures who more often than not were better off dead. So what if he'd killed as many as he wished? His brothers had done worse for power or self-interest. He was only doing what was right. He would never have asked forgiveness before, and he certainly wouldn't now. The brethren he'd killed during the fall had only made him see just how flawed humans could make a once pure angel.

Adriel wasn't out for mere revenge; this wasn't about himself. No, he wasn't selfish like his brothers. It was about Castiel not knowing his place. The angels were tools for heaven, not themselves or pathetic humans. Castiel needed to be punished as Adriel had; he was the judge, and his brother stood not only against heaven but now against the wishes of their Father. God wouldn't want such betrayal. It wouldn't be like those other angels whom he'd simply gutted and left without consideration. Their selfish actions were demure compared to the repeated treason committed by Castiel. The angel who'd fraternized with the Winchesters would have to be punished- not torture, but purification through pain.

The Bellgrad Resort was not simply a convenient, empty building. Soon after the fall, he'd met with the demon Aaron and they'd decided to buy the property as a base for simple procedures. The two were cohorts: Adriel the teacher as it were, and Cole the young protege who would someday have to be destroyed.

Cole liked the dingy, crumbling old hotel building and had spent weeks there with various captives while Adriel built something new. He wanted the fresh building to serve as a true prison like heaven's; warded, soundproof, and built to contain the wickedness of angels and demons alike. When he escaped heaven, Adriel returned to the resort, just as he'd left it, and began the task of arresting Castiel. Now that Cole had the angel, everything was prepared and would soon be right again.

He let the demon have three hours with Castiel first, to see how easily such a warped mind was manipulated by hell tricks and demon parlor tricks, before taking the angel to his own part of the facility. Captivity was the least the rebellious angel deserved after everything he'd turned away from for the damned Winchester boys.

Adriel had done nothing wrong! He hadn't deserved the cruelty of a celestial prison, or the weeks of torturous interrogation for 'crimes' he surely hadn't committed. He'd done nothing to deserve the cruel stares of his thankless superiors, whom he'd always listened to and many of whom he'd spared in his crusade.

Castiel was at fault. He'd captured an innocent brother and thrown him to the hounds of heaven before returning to his precious humans. The Winchesters would pay for turning his brother against his own kind, as well. No doubt they would soon track down the resort with little consideration for the idea of traps. Even the idiot Cole hadn't realized how easily he'd be discovered- if Adriel was lucky, one of them would kill Cole before he captured them and he wouldn't have to deal with the demon. Sam and Dean would come, though. He'd been told how stupid and self-sacrificial the pathetic men were when it came to one another and his own brother, and there was no reason not to use it against them.

Perhaps he'd kill the Winchesters in front of Castiel, to show him what happened to those who turned away from heaven's light. Or maybe they should be present to see what they'd turned a once proud soldier into with their tainted human souls. He'd have to talk with Castiel today and find out the best punishment for all three. Adriel had heard rumors that the angel was attached to his poisoners, especially the supposed 'righteous man' and he prayed it was untrue. If Castiel couldn't be broken and rebuilt as the soldier of heaven he once was, Adriel would have to destroy him for the sake of his brethren. He couldn't be left to twist the minds of the angels against what was truly right.

Camael was nearly an afterthought, but when he remembered the expressionless eyes she'd cast upon him in his prison when he asked why she'd betray her own kind, he could feel the tension in his quivering fist. He could deal with his sister later, at his leisure. The vial he kept, containing a majority of her grace, was stowed carefully in his left breast pocket, and it would stay there until he was ready to track his sister down once more. It disappointed him that the proud archangel could be made to forget the details of his escape. It only showed how their brother's influence ruined the mind. She would be weak and unknowing when he arrived, unaware of how he'd already outsmarted her...

Castiel was the more serious offender and had to be dealt with first, lest he take the side of the humans over what was right again and cause disaster.

 _"Brother."_ The voice was pathetic, cracked but still somehow conceited in Adriel's ears.

The angel let out a growl of disgust at what Castiel was making him do to fix his mistakes, standing from the plush desk-chair he'd been reclining in while he thought. "Castiel, realize that you are a traitor against heaven and have no right to speak to me unless I ask it."

He walked calmly to where his fallen brother was bound to a deliberately uncomfortable chair, head slumped over his bloodstained chest and breaths shallow but still spouting nonsense. Adriel had already summoned his wings into the plane, and the coal-black appendages drooped behind the angel, feathers twitching when he spoke. "This is not justice, brother. We were created to serve humanity," Castiel muttered even as he drifted into near unconsciousness. Cole had done a number with that damned angel blade ammunition. For the demon's sake he hoped it would be reparable once he finished rehabilitating his brother.

"Where was my justice?" Adriel hissed. "For thousands of years I did the same work as our sister who cruelly abandoned me to imprisonment." Castiel dared to shake his head, and the taller angel seized his shoulders, squeezing hard through the fabric of the trenchcoat. "You were a criminal, Adriel. You murdered to instigate war; you attempted a genocide of your own kind," the imprisoned angel coughed, pausing twice to take in belabored breath. His favorite vessel, a muscular blond philosophy teacher, did not stir at the wild thoughts of hatred that latticed around his mind at Castiel's words. "I only removed those who deserved to die, human or otherwise. You have killed for no more than the safety of two pathetic creatures who have done nothing but steal you from your family and taint your soul. Who is the criminal?"

 _"You."_

Adriel slapped Castiel then, a harsh, swift clap across the cheekbone that wouldn't disfigure or be forgotten quickly. The angel stared faintly at one wall of the vast room, black wings furling inward tensely and jaw tightening. He could hold back his words, but it was easy to know what he was thinking.

Adriel had kindly healed the wounds administered by Cole, even closing up the nasty entry wound in Castiel's chest. Now he was starting to think his kindness was unappreciated by his captive. The angel bent down to look his brother in the eye, raising his head forcibly when the prisoner tried to turn away. His grip on the bound angel's chin was just short of the pressure required to break a jawbone, thumb pressing over the forming bruise on his cheek. "Brother mine," he sighed, brown eyes meeting glassy blue as he reached behind Castiel and gripped the bend of his brother's right wing, "Do you know Langston Hughes? He said that without dreams, _'Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.'_ If you can't fly, Castiel, what does that make you?"

Cole had wanted to torment Castiel into breaking, but he couldn't have that. If a demon was responsible, he wouldn't understand how wrong he'd been to the angels and that it was their job to fix him. Still, you had to destroy in order to create.

The clean snap of bone in his brother's wing brought a smile to his face. "See, the demon believes that if you're no longer a powerful angel, the Winchesters will abandon you to save their own groveling lives... I think _Dean_ will still try to save you. I think he believes he can repair you, make you back into their servant." He paused then, one hand hovering over the next breaking point of his brother's wing and the other keeping him from tearing away. He could see blood where the warded angel had bitten through his lip, but focused on the expression of fear molded on his formerly stoic face.

There it was; proof of the Winchesters' hold over him. Never mind that he was being taken apart, mention his handlers and he forgot himself. Disgusting. He split the bone he'd neglected and sighed. "Castiel. I suppose when he gets here I'll just have to kill Dean to keep him from trying to steal you from your home," he tutted, a wave of satisfaction curling up his lips as Castiel's fear hardened into hatred.

"If you touch him," the captive angel spat, fierce despite his quivering and the pain that had to be screaming through his wing, "or Sam, I will do whatever it takes to kill you." The hostility didn't faze Adriel. He only chuckled, nodding appreciatively. "As I thought, you're still their watchdog, Castiel. But we'll see who remains loyal when all three of you are on the line and I offer to spare one."

With the last word he seized his brother's undamaged wing, not only breaking but crushing the bone in his grip. "If the Winchesters don't arrive soon, I'll have to start on the legs," he warned, standing and popping his back nonchalantly. "And wait 'til they see what you can do with a soul..." Smirking to himself, the angel moved to the door of the chamber, leaving the single lightbulb burning in the center of the room to remind Castiel that when the light came everyone saw the darkness you hid, and you couldn't hide your disfigurements, physical or otherwise, from your brothers.

The only sound before he closed the door behind himself and left to check the facility for his expected guests was a wet cough from Castiel. He wouldn't die before Adriel returned, so he ignored the rattling breath and started to hum Moonlight Sonata to himself, glancing at the watch on his right wrist. Three in the morning... yes, they should arrive soon. He sincerely hoped to see the expression on Dean Winchester's face when he knew that his corrupting of the angel Castiel had led to his and Samuel's deaths.


	14. Into the Fire

Dean looked impressed by the semi-cursing under a layer of 'what the hell is wrong with you?' that was usually reserved for when Sam or Cas had done something he thought was incredibly stupid. "Um, you just drank enough bourbon to knock Dean out," Sam explained, trying not to look at Camael like she was insane, "and then you specifically said you didn't want to eat." The angel glared in return, the cold emptiness back in her eyes. "I do not drink, Winchester. Not to become intoxicated, at least. Though it appears I am metabolizing some alcohol... Perhaps my vessel regained control for a moment- her liver isn't exactly in pristine condition- she had a problem with drink that was resolved through the church before she made herself available to the angels... and I don't remember leaving the restroom." She blinked a few times and yawned before grimacing at the human action. "If I do ask for a drink, just refuse it. Marie could use an AA sponsor if she's falling back into vice."

"Right." Cam's conclusion was a bit freaky and potentially very bad for their cause; Marie would definitely not be of use if she popped up in a demon fight. At least there probably wouldn't be a repeat of the drinking since they knew to keep the angel away from it at her own request. Although it didn't explain how she'd recognized them and talked about Cas while not being 'herself,' Camael seemed to be composed now while ignoring Dean's pancake-muffled laughter from the opposite side of the table. "I take it you have Castiel's location and we're leaving once we've eaten," she continued when neither brother seemed too preoccupied to stare. "I believe I have enough energy in my grace to get us close as long as it's still in this state. Anything farther and I'll need a breather halfway."

Sam nodded, all business now that the topic of Cas had been brought up. "It's Bellgrad Resort. Key West. No more than 200 miles to get there- but are you sure the three of us can make it?" Camael gave a look that spoke volumes of her annoyance at the question before replying, "What did you putzes think was going to happen after those hours of recharge time? I'm running on all cylinders for the time being..." Her eyes wandered to the bourbon bottle Sam had abandoned on the windowsill, and her nose wrinkled in distaste at the sight. "As long as the intoxication doesn't throw me off we can be in the right city as soon as you pay the bill..."

The waitress appeared again with Camael's tray: two omelettes, toast and coffee all reminding Sam that he hadn't taken a bite of his lukewarm eggs yet. Aside from a few sips of coffee at the hospital and a horrible bite of spinach omelette, this was his first meal since before the crash that had split the group; his turkey wrap from the gas station had turned out to be far past its suggested date and had been pitched without a taste accordingly. Even Dean, who'd eaten a whole slice of pie from the gas station, was hungry enough to continue chowing down, though Sam suspected that his brother's appetite was far greater than the average person's. Staring down the oily, off-yellow pocket of dairy on his plate, he wished he'd kept the spoiled tortilla.

Beside him, Camael was making quick work of her own food, either hungry or trying to be efficient from the way she'd stacked the eggs on her toast and took a drink of coffee after every three bites. Dean was filling out the bill, halfway through his fourth plate of pancakes and a (seventh? eighth?) cup of coffee, and Sam felt like he was holding up the rush. He heaved a quiet sigh and cut into his omelette, trying to ignore the grease that sprouted around his fork in the process. It was a little better than the spinach, with no bitter tang or off flavor, but the cheese was still swimming in oil and it took him a minute to get it down. While he chewed spongy egg his conscience demanded to know just how the brothers intended to find and remove Cas from the hotel when there could be any number of demons and possibly a vengeful angel to contend with.

Sure, they had a demon knife, but even the angel accompanying them probably wouldn't be able to smite her brother at the moment. He just hoped Adriel wasn't too involved yet; Crowley had said that an angel hired Cole, but he hadn't explained whether they were having a rendezvous or a drop off or what would happen to Cas if Adriel got hold of him. That information probably would've been offered for the price of one human soul if Crowley hadn't taken off.

In five minutes, there was nothing left on Sam's plate but a slick layer of excess oil. "Let's go," Dean announced, pushing up from the booth and bouncing on his feet. Every plate on the table was empty, actually, and only Sam had left coffee behind. The trio filed out, headed back to the Impala, and when those in the front were buckled in Camael reached from the backseat to practically slap her hands on their foreheads. There was a long, calm silence as the world went dark, and Sam tried to ignore the clammy fingers against his temple in the near nothingness that somehow seemed more malevolent than when Camael had transported him earlier. Then everything returned vividly through the windshield, 2 am darkness awash over the grungy location accented with palm trees and what looked like graffiti on the side of a distant shop.

"You've arrived at your destination," came a sigh from behind his seat. Sure enough, when he twisted to look out the window he was greeted by a dilapidated sign reading 'Bellgrad Resort' in letters that probably used to be lit up at night. Dean was hurling himself out the driver's door before Sam could work his seatbelt off, and Camael followed seconds behind.

It was too soon. Minutes ago he'd been worrying about what they'd do to get Cas away from this demon and now they were literally on his doorstep. Well, doorsteps, not that it made Sam feel any more confident in his angel-rescuing abilities. There were two buildings directly before them, one old and pretty much falling apart and the other halfway to being completed. Dean breathed deeply and raced to the door of the latter, motioning for his companions to split up.

Of course. They'd find Cas a lot faster this way, but there was also no better way for Cole to overpower the team than to isolate them. "We'll take the old building," Camael announced, pulling Sam along by the sleeve without asking his opinion. They approached the wide green door with its flaking paint and the angel hovered a hand over the scratched locks before pushing it open. It didn't give the satisfying, horror movie creak he'd almost expected, but the puff of air that escaped as the door was unsealed was cold and stale.

The alcohol appeared to have evacuated Camael's system as she deftly checked around the door for sigils, alarms or other traps, holding up two fingers until it was all clear and she stepped inside. "Cas?" Sam called, following Cam as she led the way past two open doors and a boarded room without pausing to check any of them. Sam stopped at each doorway and peered into relative darkness, finding spacious rooms occupied only by empty, falling-apart bookshelves and once pristine desks.

The smell was what grounded Sam in the notion that this was actually an old, long-abandoned building. Dust threatened to make him sneeze in the dry, mildew-tainted air, and breathing in was a gamble; in some breaths there was nothing much in the way of scent and in others the odor of decaying wood and rust was overpowering. Eerily missing were the noises and scents that would verify life- no ammonia of rodent droppings or skittering of bugs and rats in the corners. He got the feeling the place had been eradicated of anything living a long while ago and had maintained its lifelessness since.

The angel leading the way stopped abruptly a meter ahead, and he halted in like to avoid colliding with her as she studied a doorway intently and wiped a symbol from the frame with her sleeve. He could see only inky blackness beyond the few feet of light given off by a hall bulb that was scant evidence of Cole's ownership and upkeep of the otherwise dated, unchanged hotel lobby; as such he dug a flashlight from his backpack as Camael went on ahead.

Sam ignored the chill creeping up his neck at the empty, stifling silence of the place, wishing there was at least a bit of air circulating. He unscrewed the top of the flashlight and reattached it tighter when the switch did nothing, tapping it against his wrist in the way that did little but jostle the batteries inside. At least it sounded like Camael was waiting- it took a long moment to get the flashlight running, and Sam heaved a sigh at the meager beam it gave off, vowing to buy a new set of led lights next time he was on a supply run.

A minute or so had passed without the sound of the angel's footsteps. Sam swept his flashlight over the room to see what had distracted her; the room was vast beneath piles of old boxes and stacks of hotel supplies. This had probably been a storage area or private dining room before the place shut down, but now debris and hardware were strewn everywhere in organized chaos.

There were a lot of blankets and several bedframes piled against one distant wall, and Camael was stooped beside them, sifting through a sizable cardboard box. As Sam inched closer he could hear the thumping of the box's contents being rearranged. It sounded like tightly wrapped bundles or books, and Sam raised an eyebrow at the angel who was searching through them with silent fixation. "Cam, is there something here we need? Can you sense something of Cas'?"

"Oh yes, the moose," Camael muttered. She stood, staring up with black eyes at the Winchester before admitting, "Almost forgot why I split you two up."


	15. Friggin' Demons

Sorry it's been 2 weeks, guys. College has been taking up my brainpower and my test audience (little sister) has been too busy to read.

I have the next chapter almost done, as it was supposed to come before this one, but I needed to post this first to make the chronology make sense.

Thanks for the reviews, as well. ^^ (I love the idea of dragging Adriel through holy fire, but rest assured the Winchesters'll give him what he deserves soon enough.)

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Sam cursed inwardly, praying that Dean had found Cas rather than a trap. Sam managed to uncap a bottle of holy water before the demon realized what he was doing and snapped her fingers. In an instant he was held against the near wall by nothingness, and he turned to discussion to keep his captor distracted. "But Cas recognized you, Dean saw your _wings_ , there's no way you're a..."

Camael's eye roll was achingly slow before she responded, "Are you two _that_ stupid!? An angel who's hardly an angel at the moment isn't hard to possess; you just have to get rid of that nasty little human soul in the body and you're in. Now, I think you know from experience what happens when a stronger soul inhabits the vessel of a weaker one. Spock here can see and hear when I allow it, but I control the body... if you behave I might let the prat live. That bourbon was shit, by the way."

"Crowley?" There was a sound of questioning disbelief in his tone. The demon gave Sam a look that said _'Slow today, aren't we?'_ and added, "I would've thought you boys would notice when those bloody demons at the gas station recognized me, but I guess you assumed the angel had engaged them."

Sam frowned, brow furrowing, and asked, "How long were you in control?" Crowley heaved a _'let's see, hmm,'_ sigh, then replied flatly, "Since I 'left' and the feathery prick followed me. I drew a few things from her own thoughts, and flipping the bird at Dean was a repressed urge of hers over the nicknames, but I've been in the driver's seat since you three went back on our little plan." The hunter shook his head in disbelief, trying to ignore the rough wall that was imprinting into his back. "You pretended to be Camael the entire ride? And realizing her vessel had drank? Why do something that complicated?"

"Now you question the plan, Moose? When it got me here?" Crowley's sneer lightened as he raised a finger and a pressure started to build against Sam's left arm. "Rambo was asleep most of the time, but she started trying to get control when I was attempting to enjoy my rather bollocks whiskey. Hence the playing drunk in case she got through to warn you imbeciles and knocking myself out to go deal with her." The demon's annoyed words were honestly a bit creepy coming from the woman who was previously Camael.

"I could tell you and your brother didn't buy the idea of your transportation getting knackered, but sometimes a guy needs a stiff drink to deal with all your Winchester shit. And that damn gas station food did actually make the vessel ill. The bathrooms at that diner are about as unpleasant as your company, but you should thank me for getting you this far."

It sounded almost stupidly risky now, and Sam felt like an idiot for not noticing any change in the angel's attitude and ignoring the warped transportation, but the pain in his arm was distracting him enough to get over the guilt. "So what're you here for? Figured you'd dig through Cole's stuff and find yourself a souvenir?" he asked dumbfoundedly, "I thought you said the book was at his estate."

Crowley shrugged, straightening the edge of Camael's labcoat sleeve. "I checked there and found nothing worth my time before feathers caught up with me, so I decided to tag along with you lot on your merry rescue mission. Bonus, when I deliver the angel in this vessel to her much more emotive brother over in the nicer wing, I get a vial of grace to do with as I please." There was a predatory smirk on the demon's face as Sam felt the pressure leave his arm, but the hunter noted admiration in the word 'bastard.' Demons seriously had problems.

"But what to do with Samsquatch while big brother's away, hmm? I seem to remember a certain blood addict getting me into the habit last time _I_ was the one alone in enemy territory." Crowley pulled a scalpel from his sleeve, looking curiously at his own wrist before furrowing his brow and staring vacantly into the distance as though speaking to an audience. "I wonder what sort of shenanigans blood from the vessel housing an angel and demon could get you into, Moose... Relapse? New hunger? Let's see, shall we?"

It was as Crowley made an incision that the force holding Sam against the wall disappeared and the hunter crashed into a box and the floor. The demon fell on his knees, a severe frown on the face of his vessel, and crushed the medical instrument in his grasp as red smoke started to filter out of his mouth in tiny wisps. He breathed it back in momentarily, cursing under his breath, but the moment's distraction was enough for Sam to pick up a piece of bedframe and use it to whack the demon in the head.

Crowley dropped to one side, out cold from the harsh attempt to subdue him, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief. His first thought was to chant an exorcism, but if Adriel was in the other building having an unconscious angel from his hit list was probably a bad idea. Promising to apologize later if Camael turned out to be on their side, he painted an angel banishing sigil on the wall. For good measure he also recited an exorcism, finishing up as he planted a hand on the symbol.

After the blinding light had faded, showing a room empty of life again, Sam rolled his left shoulder and shuffled to the box Crowley had been looking through. A first edition of Catch-22, two paperback romance novels, a Spanish-English dictionary and a stack of library books stamped with painfully distant dates made up the lot; he even flipped through each checking for a note or hidden parcel but found nothing. When it was clear he wouldn't make any progress in the older building, Sam took his half-spilled bottle of holy water from the floor and headed back out into the hallway.

"What's this? You're the younger Winchester?" an incredulous voice questioned. The hunter heaved a sigh and turned to look over his shoulder where a skinny, bespectacled man was studying him, arms crossed and leaning his weight on one foot. The man shook his head, tutting, and smirked widely. "Nice to meet you. Cole Aaron; businessman, demon, occasional partyboy..." the demon trailed off, holding out a hand to shake. When Sam stayed back warily, grip tightening on the bottle of holy water, his smile fell. "No need to be so cold, Sammy. The bird is the only one I was ever going to mess up. You- well, we can make a deal, huh?"

He couldn't catch a break, could he? Sam thought the demon would as soon shoot him as make a deal, so he humored the dark-eyed fellow. "What kind of deal do you want?" Cole's eyebrows rose jauntily, one cocked and the other high in mock surprise. "Sammy-boy, it's not about what the contractor wants. A deal caters to the one who has to sign."

A moment of consideration, then the proposal. "Help me free Cas and get Dean out of here safely," he demanded simply, his plain, expecting look the practiced expression of a negotiating lawyer. Even with the Winchester habit of tripping into success, two humans and an angel of unknown strength against an angel of assumed greater strength wasn't his ideal matchup. Cole looked impressed with his candor for a moment before nodding to himself calculatingly. "Let's see, if I refuse, you douse me with the holy water and I probably have to kill and/or capture you... It wouldn't be too hard; I know your brother has that knife that can kill my kind, and I know plenty of ways to shut up an exorcism."

The demon's eyes flicked to a human dark brown and he smiled broadly. "However, Winchester, I'm smarter than I act around the boss and I know the score. The minute we're done with his revenge crap, that angel's gonna try to kill me. And as much as I like a job and a good torture session, this one's eating at me. At first playing with Castiel was interesting- don't get a lot of angels in the business. But there's not a sense of poetic justice about cutting up a guy who didn't deal his soul away to hell. Honestly, I think Adriel might be flat-out crazy, but I'm in too deep to just run." Cole's eyes fell on Sam with something like fear; Crowley had said Cole was relatively new to his 'flock.' The hunter wondered how long the man had been a demon before falling in with Adriel, and how long the demon had known that the angel wouldn't leave him alive when their work was done.

Sam raised an eyebrow, mouth hanging slightly open. He had thought his own deals were messed up, but heaven-hell mergers were worse. Still, they could have a temporary ally in the demon if Dean didn't kill the guy on sight for snatching Cas in the first place.

Cole licked his lips like an addict bargaining for a hit before sizing Sam up. "You guys want Adriel dead, right? Pretty sure it'd be best for everybody if he's gone. So you hunters and your angel agree not to kill me or let him kill me, we take him out and I'll do what I can to get you fellas home in one piece..."

When the hunter's expression panned, the demon added briskly, "I'll even see what I can do about fixing the bird's wings. Adriel said he was gonna break those first to see if you guys still wanted him without 'em." Cole swallowed, the cockiness in his manner replaced by slight anxiety. As much of a sadist and a general douche as the guy was, he had some sense of propriety. And with Camael graced-out and kicked out and Cas possibly beat to hell, Sam knew they could use someone with the ability to heal.

The brunette hunter nodded, finally putting away his water bottle and letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Fine, deal," he sighed, "but you've got to do the same. If anyone but Adriel dies, the deal's off..." He hoped he sounded firm rather than fearful.

When Cole smiled and took a purposeful step forward, Sam added urgently, "And I'm not signing with a kiss." The demon shrugged, joking, "Personally, I always liked that part, but whatever floats your boat, big guy..." Cole's gaze hardened and he frowned at the wall as he produced a contract from thin air. His words were stern but hesitant, and Sam could feel discomfort radiating off the demon as he read over and signed the contract. "If things don't go South tonight and Castiel lives- make sure he knows you meatsacks need him for more than his Jesus juice," he sighed.

"O-kay," Sam breathed, brows knitting together. He wasn't sure whether friendship advice should be taken from sadistic demons, but it sounded harmless and possibly brought on by a feeling of guilt. He remembered that it was Adriel who'd been killing before Cas' capture; Cole was nowhere near innocent, but he wasn't on Crowley-level either. He'd mentioned 'playing' with Cas, so maybe he was guilty over something he'd said? Still, if the guy had really hurt the angel, Dean would blow his head off. Maybe if they-

His thoughts were stamped out when Cole kicked him hard in the knee, giving him only a smile as he instinctively lashed out with a right hook at the demon's face.


	16. Like a Bee to Honey

Castiel was absorbed in thought in an attempt to ignore the stabbing pain in his wings that by then had extended to spasms of tightness in the shoulderblades where they originated. He'd only really summoned the physical manifestation of his wings as Adriel had a few times while in the human world, and being unable to heal them now made for a simple decision to continue not to bring them out for anything but flying. The phantom sensation of them used to hover at the back of his consciousness, but now he thought he might never forget his brother's crushing grip or the feeling of bone fragments grating together.

The angel had been lightly struggling against his restraints before, preparing to free himself from their cold grip in every moment he had alone. He was almost sure Adriel was too cocky to have put a camera in the small room and didn't bother to be covert about his escape plan. He wasn't sure how long he'd have before his brother returned with the Winchesters or one of Cole's toolboxes, but he needed to be ready to fight. He shifted and ran his thumb nail against the mere rope binding him to the wooden chair, cursing the absence of his power. As things were, he'd have to reopen his chest wound without killing himself to remove the angel bullet, though, so he didn't linger on the thought for long.

Weariness was seeping through him from his trembling wings, compounded in a weight that kept his limbs in place better than the bindings themselves. Castiel took in a slow breath, trying not to let the cold rattle him, and continued his systematic escape. Seventeen minutes after Adriel left him, he managed to sever the rope restraining his right hand. With a relieved sigh the angel leaned his head back for a moment, keeping his eyes closed as he untied his other arm.

It was bending down to get at the ropes around his legs that stopped him. Cas felt a surge of nausea pulse up from his stomach, and thought was wiped out by a dizzy spell that made him jolt back up too hard and jostle his injured wings. It took more than a few minutes of deep breathing and praying the Winchesters were okay before he managed to right himself. Hours in the same captive position had thrown off his equilibrium- he found that the more serious injury of his left wing had caused him to slouch to the side and sitting up straight only aggravated its condition. As he let out a breath and reached down to his left leg, there was a cloth-muffled thump against the windowless door.

The spark that had died in his eyes as he sat alone with his thoughts and pain was re-lit in a moment of uncertainty, and he hurriedly worked at his ropes as the doorknob on the far side of the room was tested, then tugged at. The door shook violently before crashing open, smoke dissipating from the latch, and Castiel forced himself up from the chair, dragging one bent wing against the floor as he moved to Adriel's desk. He needed a weapon or-

 **"Cas!"**

"Dean...?" Cas breathed, almost disbelieving the hunter's presence though the voice was unmistakable. He dropped the letter opener he'd been about to brandish when Dean came into view. His friend surged through the doorway to him, making eye contact for a few seconds before checking for wounds. "Dean..." Castiel reined in his joy as cold fear coiled in his gut. He needed to get Dean out quickly, before Adriel could get his hands on the hunter. The angel bit his lip as Dean's eyes settled on his wings and immediately sharpened. "What the hell did he do?" the hunter muttered, every word doused in vengeance.

"We need to go before Adriel returns Dean. He intends... to harm- you and Sam..." Castiel trailed off wearily, leaning heavily on the desk he'd been rooting through to catch his breath. Dean eyed the angel's wings warily, setting a hand on his friend's shoulder as he replied, "Yeah, well I intend to kill the son of a bitch. Cole too... Can you- heal yourself?" The words had a hopeful tone that made Cas long to lie to his friend, but he couldn't keep secrets when both lives were at stake. "No. There's a bullet made of an angel blade near- possibly in- my left lung... I didn't want to attempt to remove it without proper medical equipment." He was disappointed in himself for not taking the risk, but fear that he would die before getting the Winchesters out had stopped him...

For a moment he thought that perhaps Camael was right about emotions being trouble, but then he caught the compassion in Dean's eyes and forgot the notion; he had been an unbroken angel, but now he was something far more. He was a Winchester. "He knew you'd come here, but he may not realize you've arrived. We need to leave."


	17. Decisions and Death

Dean nodded to himself, calculating the odds against Adriel in their combined state. It didn't look good on Cas' end; he was still bleeding and without grace he was liable to pass out before too long.

"Tell you what, Cas. Let's go see if we can find an angel blade around here... if not-" He raised his hands in surrender. "-you, me, Sammy and Camael can drive off, find a room to get you patched up in and come back when we stock up on weapons." Dean made sure to lock eyes with Cas so the angel would know he was sincere. "I'm not gonna endanger you." Cas didn't look appeased, so he added, "-or myself, I promise."

"Winchesters," came a heavy sigh from the doorway, "Always making promises you can't keep to people you end up destroying..." Adriel tutted and raised an eyebrow as Dean stepped between the brothers. The taller angel watched the hunter block his path to Cas with a patient curiosity that pissed him off. "Dean Winchester- I am an angel, linked to heaven's power and my own, while you are a severely incapable human being..." The angel paused to shake his head, lips pursed in disappointment. "If you stand down I will think about letting you die first."

"Why the hell would I stand down when I can gank your ass right here and now?" Dean bluffed, a hand stowed in the pocket of his jacket as though he had an angel blade at his disposal. He felt Cas' fingers on his shoulder, urging him not to get into a fight he wouldn't win. Adriel's dark eyes gleamed with pleasure as he replied, "I believe I have something of yours... Collateral to ensure you play by the rules." With that he snapped his thin fingers, and Cole waddled in, hauling a limping, struggling Sam into the room ahead of himself. There was a splotch of fresh blood beneath the demon's bruising nose, and Dean thanked his brother silently for getting a hit in on the bastard.

Dean pulled the demon knife from his pocket, brandishing it in Cole's direction for a few seconds before Adriel rolled his eyes and the weapon flew from his grip to embed itself in the far wall. A moment later there was a splintering crunch as the earth shook- well, at least the floor was shaking. Cas darted past Dean in his brother's direction, taking up the letter opener from Adriel's desk as boards tore and pried themselves up, separating into tendrils that seized Dean's ankles and hauled him to the ground. Soon the wooden appendages had him sitting upright, legs secured to the floor, half-bent uncomfortably, and hands lashed at the wrists slightly behind his back.

When the panic had settled to confusion he snapped his head up to see that a few feet away Sam and Cas were trapped the same way. The latter had a fresh cut on his cheek, and Dean saw the glint of Adriel's angel blade peeking out of his sleeve. At least Dean could see both of them, and Cole was nowhere to be found. He cursed the demon's cowardice but was grateful that he only had to take down the angel. He coughed sawdust and struggled against the stiff restraints, willing himself to come up with a new plan.

"So, here's the game," Adriel sighed, tapping the flat of his angel blade methodically against his fingers, "Each of you is going to give me a name. If two of you say the same name, that person gets released... alive. If you can't agree, all three of you are finished here. I do apologize, Castiel, but after what you tried to do I don't think you're salvageable to return to heaven. You will serve as an example for the unfaithful who defy our father's wishes unless the humans choose to spare you." His smirk grew sadistic as the angel added, "And so you fellows don't think there's something wrong with self preservation..." He snapped his fingers and- nothing happened. All three were still held by the splintered floor and no one appeared to have been marked or injured.

 _'What are you playing at?'_ Dean shouted silently. His eyes widened when he couldn't hear the words. _'Son of a bitch...'_ Still nothing. He cleared his throat, feeling the vibration but still not hearing. There was only a faint ringing in his ears and the creaking of floorboards as he shifted. He snapped his fingers and the sound was muffled but there.

 _'Sam! Can you hear me?'_ he urgently asked, clenching his fist as his brother furrowed his brow and tried to read his lips. Dammit.

 _'Choose Cas!'_ the hunter implored before Adriel stepped between the brothers, squatting before Dean. "Only I can hear your voices, Dean... And as the reason for all this trouble, I believe you should think hard about your choice." There was a compassion in Adriel's eyes that didn't belong there as he lackadaisically twirled the angel blade in his fingers. "Yourself, Castiel or Sam? You have one minute to choose." With that the angel stood and turned to the other captives to repeat the spiel.

Dean caught Cas and Sam sharing a mournful look before Adriel's form cut off his view. Shit. He wanted to spare Sam from all this. Of the three, his little brother had the best chance of actually living a life beyond hunting, and they all knew it. But Dean was never one to lay down and give up- He was aware of Cas' condition; his injuries would interfere in their escape, and if Adriel started torturing him again Dean wasn't sure the guy could hold out long enough to put a plan into action. He just had to make sure Sam said Cas' name- he knew there was no way the angel would save himself; he was a damned idiot. He was the brothers' best friend, so Dean supposed it came with the title.

Adriel had stepped aside and Dean gestured frantically in Castiel's direction with his shoulder, making eye contact with his brother and mouthing, _'We can handle it.'_ A sick tension broiled in his stomach at the apologetic look Sam was giving him. The long-haired hunter's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and Dean didn't need to hear Adriel's words to know what his little brother was apologizing for.

"Sorry Dean, but it looks like you've been voted off the island and we don't need to count your ballot," the angel sighed, his consoling tone spiked with glee. He flicked a finger just as Dean took in a gulp of air, and all in the room could hear the hunter's incensed, "Why the hell would you choose me?!" The anger in his voice was mostly fear for the others, but he was damn pissed at Sam. Maybe he'd known Cas would choose him; the angel's favoritism had been noted time and again, and even now the winged idiot probably thought he could handle things and keep him safe. But Sam- that was almost betrayal, and he saw the sorrow in his brother's eyes and clenched jaw. To cut the strongest fighter from the match was a fool's move, unless...

"You don't think you're gonna get out of here," he muttered. It wasn't a question, though he'd meant it to be when he started. Sam swallowed again and stared at the floor where it was hooked around his legs. "How could you do that?! You can't just let me-" He sighed, hating the quiver in his breath, and forced down the tightness that burned his throat. Castiel was looking at Dean with a beseeching calmness that the hunter just couldn't muster as he urged, "Dean... you are important. Not just as a hunter, but to... us. We could not knowingly choose to let you be harmed." There was emotion, a shake in the angel's voice, that terrified Dean. He remembered his worry just days before that feeling would get Cas killed, and his stomach churned. Sam's eyes rose again, guiltily, and his imploring gaze echoed the angel's sentiment.

"You guys think I won't grieve?! Last time I lost either of you it was alcohol and killing and screwing things up until you pulled me back. I'm not leaving." Stern as his words were, Adriel let out a laugh, tinged with mania, when he'd finished. "You're right- you can't go... yet," the angel provided, taking a knee beside Dean's right leg with a little smile. "I never said I would spare you your punishment, only your life." The handle of the angel blade struck the green-eyed hunter's cheekbone before he could curse at his captor and he bit back a grunt of pain as it crashed into his ribs.

It took maybe a half hour of carefully contained violence before the hunter was covered in bruises and small incisions. At first Sam protested and tried to goad the angel into changing targets, but he wasn't listening. In fact Adriel said nothing the entire time. He didn't taunt Dean or talk more about how he'd ruined Cas. He seemed to be holding back, having to stop himself mid-cut as he nearly tore through to bone while focusing his mutilation on the shoulder where Castiel's mark had once lain. Dean wondered behind a black eye and possible concussion whether the dick of an angel could feel the 'bond' Cas was always on about.

 **"Stop!"** Cas demanded, his voice hoarse and too hurt, too human. Dean squinted his eyes open, catching a sight he never wanted to; tears in the blue eyes that had stared emptily into his own in a barn six years before. Trying to look away, he noticed something else. The sleeves of Cas' trenchcoat were bound back by the floorboards, but they were hollow and cinched tightly where his wrists should have been. The coat was pulled taut around the angel's shoulders, hiding his torso from view- Cas had managed to fool the trap and had use of his arms.

The hunter took in a breath, trying not to stare at the discrepancy past the angel who turned furiously toward the sound of Castiel's order. Adriel's grip tightened on his weapon and he stood again, meandering over to his brother and stroking the edge of the blade with his thumb. "I suppose it is your turn, Castiel," he sighed, gripping the collar of his brother's coat, "But I've had enough of your misguided care for the-" He paused, blade raised halfway to Cas' throat, and inched back. "What have you done, brother?" he hissed, looking the other angel over like he was something unsavory. Silver, thin as a needle, protruded from Adriel's chest, glinting with leaking grace. It wasn't enough to kill the angel, but it was the moment of distraction Cas needed.

The trenchcoat-clad angel launched himself at his brother, trying to wrest the angel blade out of his grip. In the same moment the flooring around the hunters' limbs erupted and split away, and Cole appeared beside Dean just in time to receive an elbow to the ribs. "I'm on your side, dammit!" the demon whisper-shouted, skirting around Dean to avoid a second attack, "Sam and I have a deal- I don't die, you guys don't die..." The short-haired hunter raised an eyebrow at Cole before turning on Sam with his patented 'disapproving big bro' frown. Deals with demons were a pain in the ass, especially when you very much wanted to kill the demon involved.

While Dean ignored Sam's explanation of why the agreement was necessary and clapped a hand over his bleeding shoulder, he turned toward where Cas and Adriel were still scuffling. The blue-eyed angel was looking stronger with every second despite a rapidly spreading stain on his once-white dress shirt. His trenchcoat hung awkwardly from his wings; the letter opener from Adriel's desk fell from a pocket and clattered to the ground, stained the same color as his shirt, and Dean realized as he watched the angels' struggle that Cas must have dug the angel bullet out of himself and reformed it into the needle he'd stabbed Adriel with. Dean was damn impressed that the angel had managed, while practically human, to cut out the offending object without alerting anyone. If they weren't battling a batshit insane, self-righteous angel right now he'd have said as much, but instead he stepped aside as Castiel got hold of the angel blade, wanting to help but knowing he'd just get in the way.

"Castiel," the blond angel seethed, "brother, you continue to betray your family..." Fierce blue eyes met amber as the angel blade pierced Adriel's chest. Light burst from the wound and the angel dug the knife deeper. "I am protecting my family," Cas growled, letting the other angel's body drop to the floor carelessly. Despite the badass aura that had ensconced him in battle, Dean found that Cas looked weary as he leaned over to pluck his weapon from his brother's corpse. He supposed losing a gallon of blood had something to do with it, as did the state of his wings.

"Cas, you okay?" he asked, taking the angel's shoulders to look him over and trying not to apologize for getting his own blood on his friend's clothing. Cas' gaze was a bit vacant until he blinked and narrowed his eyes at Dean, scanning the hunter's injuries. Dean felt a bit self conscious, standing up a little straighter under Castiel's scrutiny. The angel reached over as if to heal the hunter, but Dean gritted his teeth and shifted aside, shaking his head. "I'll be alright 'til we get home," he insisted. He was eager to get to the bunker and see to Cas' wings with his supersized med kit, but Sam was busy rooting through Adriel's pockets.

"Sam! Leave the angel corpse alone. You don't know where it's been," he sighed, trying to sound parental. His brother just rolled his eyes and dug in the front pocket of Adriel's shirt, taking out a small vial that glowed familiarly. "Grace?" he wondered aloud, raising an eyebrow. "How'd you know that would be there?" Come to think of it, weren't they missing someone? "And uh, where's Top Cat?"

Sam's mouth twitched, but Dean couldn't tell whether he was trying not to smile or frown. "Long story. Short version; Crowley," the taller Winchester sighed, pocketing the vial of grace. Dean made an impressed face, nodding once thoughtfully. "Ah, makes sense. Explains the whiskey incident." At Cas' befuddled stare and head tilt, he echoed his brother. "Crowley problems, Cas... Now let's get home and patch everybody up, please."

* * *

Hey guys~

I'm pretty sure this is going to be the penultimate chapter, so get ready for a little bunker conclusion and some fluff to finish up.

Just so you guys know, I'm going to be doing a 100 drabble series that takes place after this story, with a lot more Destiel bits and character appearances.

Also, thanks to Anloquen for the reviews; they really made me happy over the weekend~ ^^


	18. So He Knows

In seconds Dean found himself standing beside Baby, a hand out to steady himself against the driver's side door. Shaking his head to clear himself of the lightheadedness that seemed to accompany demon travel, the hunter sighed in relief at the sight of the bunker. For a moment the thought that Cole had known where to go disturbed him, but Sam's voice brought him back to the present. "Dean! Help me with him!" The tawny-haired Winchester hurried to his brother's side, where Cas was slumping lower by the second, eyes closed and body limp. Sam was holding him up gingerly by the shoulders but there was panic in his eyes.

"What the hell?" Dean grumbled, concern for the angel melding into his hatred for Adriel, "Shouldn't he be healing by now?" Despite the revival of his grace, Castiel's wings were still ragged and bloody, and as he studied them a charcoal feather that had been twisted backward detached and dropped to the grass. There appeared to have been no change since Dean had found him, excepting that some of his blood had dried stiffly over the feathers. "Shit..."

As Dean and Sam hauled their friend toward the bunker entrance, taking care not to drag his wings through the brush, Cole stepped in with a stern frown, staying out of the brothers' way as he spoke. "You've never dealt with angel wings before, have you?" he sighed, keeping out of range when Dean glared at him. Hands up defensively, the demon continued, "An angel can't heal his own wings... I can't technically fix them either, but I know how to set a bone. I heard from Adriel that breaking or removing wings used to be penance for angels who committed sin against God or Humanity."

Cas muttered something unintelligible, and when Dean shifted hear him better he spoke up again. "Only another angel can heal them. It's an outdated punishment; meant to show that the sinner was worthy of forgiveness if one of his brothers was willing to risk being cast out the same way for it," the angel breathed shakily. Cole nodded, asking, "But you had an angel with you, right? The strange one that Crowley hitched a ride in when you got here?" His words were almost hopeful, and until Dean remembered that Sam had agreed not to kill the demon if they all survived, he was impressed with the concern. "Yeah, but there was some trouble after that and she's... somewhere," Sam replied gruffly. Dean thumped his brother in the side with the hand he was keeping around Cas' waist, a physical warning not to get pissed at himself. Cole's mouth quirked into a frown, and the demon gave a shrug. "I'll go find the bird and bring it here if I can," he offered, disappearing into black smoke before either Winchester could protest. "He's not comin' in the bunker," Dean warned.

It took a few minutes to get Cas down the stairs and to one of the bunker's bedrooms. At first Dean figured a spare room would be best, but just moving the half-conscious angel was eliciting pained groans, and the hard mattresses that stocked the empty rooms weren't exactly therapeutic. "This way," he demanded, making a hard turn toward his own room. What Cas needed right now was memory foam. Screw the bloodstains- he'd deal with the laundry later.

He felt Sam's eyes on him and constricted his jaw, hoisting the angel through the door and to the bed he'd actually made last time he'd woken in the room. They settled him on his stomach, head turned against the pillow to prevent him smothering himself, feet hanging over the edge and wings resting to either side of his body. Splotches of red-brown were already sinking into the sheets beneath as Dean felt for the thready pulse from the angel's neck. "His breathing's pretty erratic, but there's no rattle or anything so I think he healed his lung," Sam noted hopefully, fidgeting with the vial hanging around his neck.

Dean eyed the grace suspiciously; could it be used to heal Cas without its owner around? He hadn't seen a human take in or manipulate grace, though, and using what didn't belong to him had floored Cas before. A hand on his friend's shoulder, the hunter urged, "Cas. Man, you gotta get those eyes open. We need to know how to help you." The angel twitched, a miniscule motion, and swallowed before forcing his eyes half open to lock eyes wearily with Dean. "Another angel," he rasped, "like Cole said..." He caught Dean's gaze wandering to the bottle of grace and kept his head turned away from it. "That is Camael's. I can't use it for my wings without her will."

Dean could see a tightness in his friend's jaw at the realization that they didn't have any angels to call on for this. Sam said nothing as he trudged out of the room, determination in his stride. It was true that allies of the Winchesters ended up paying the price for their cause. He just prayed that this time they could cover it without losing Cas. He wouldn't go through that again.

He couldn't.

A hand rested over his beside Cas' head and Dean gritted his teeth as he felt the gash in his cheek pull itself closed with one last pinch before warmth settled in place of pain. Cas was still trying to heal him. "Dean. This won't kill me, despite the... evacuation of blood," he assured as the dull throb of torn flesh disappeared from his mangled shoulder. "De-winging is painful, and tiring, but never fatal in itself. I'll be fine once I sleep a little."

Angels don't sleep. It pissed Dean off so badly that Adriel had taken flight from Cas. He might not act as much like an angel as he had when he was still playing the part of a good little soldier, but Dean knew he still took pride in his effectiveness, and self-loathing was more of a problem than the disability itself. How many times had Cas thought he wasn't worthy of being saved, or helped, or cared about? If the angel thought he wouldn't be of use in his condition, he would leave rather than be a 'burden.'

When Sam reappeared with a damp towel, a bag of ice and a bottle of aspirin, the wounded angel was almost asleep. "Cas. We need you here, so don't even think this wing thing matters to us. Other than the fact that we all wanted to gank the son of a bitch who caused it," Dean assured him, taking a wet rag provided by the ever-helpful Sam and giving his brother a look that said 'Back me up here.'

While Dean tried to wipe some of the wing blood away that had puddled under Cas' neck and cheek, his brother took over the encouragement. "Uhhh. Yeah. It's not just what you've done for us, Cas. We need your... self, more than we need your abilities. Because you're our friend, not just our ally." Sam punctuated his assertion by gingerly settling the bag of ice over their friend's wings. The hunter was for his part sincere, though his wording was clumsy. Winchesters were never good with feelings and friendship.

That was why Dean surprised himself when he added a stern, "Damn straight. We love you for bein' Cas, not for doing us favors." He knew Sam was staring at him again, and swallowed the urge to snap, 'What're you looking at, bitch?' In place of the outburst the hunter set his focus on getting as much blood off of his friend as possible while trying not to make eye contact. Moments later, he was caught off guard again, this time by Sam's words. "Yeah, we do," the taller Winchester confirmed. Okay. Now that was out there. Cas knew he wasn't just a weapon and nobody had to sit down and chat about feelings because there were more important things like saving his wings to attend to.

Before Cas could give a response there was a thunderous round of noise at the bunker entrance. It was a bit like if you knocked on someone's front door with a frozen halibut; loud, sharp and annoying after a few raps. Why someone would knock with iced fish Dean didn't know, but he was too busy worrying about angel wings to bother with sensible similes. "It better be that damn demon!" Dean hissed, pacing to the doorway of his room with the washcloth wringing pink droplets onto the carpet in his vicelike grip. "I'll be right back." He lingered, watching Cas for a few seconds until the angel replied, "And we'll be right here." It took the addition of incoherent shouting outside to tear him away from blue eyes and black wings and red stains.

"What the hell d'you need?" the hunter demanded, pulling the door half open, one hand in his pocket where a pistol resided. The knocking had ceased when the door started to move, and no one now stood outside. About a foot from the entrance however, was an unconscious kid in a hoodie. Lovely. A splash of holy water and a touch of salt and silver later, he decided it wouldn't be too dangerous to bring him inside. Cole had promised an angel after all. Whoever was in there, they needed him. He hauled the guy up over one shoulder and carried him in pretty easily. The fellow was probably only five feet tall and underweight.

When Dean set up the new arrival in a chair a foot from Cas' bedside, Sam gave him the look he himself had worn a minute before; confusion and suspicion. To alleviate the bitchface, he flipped the guy's hood off, only to grimace himself. It wasn't a kid; he was probably in his late 20s and just really short. He had an admittedly badass-looking knife scar from his left ear across his cheek, and his wavy K-pop bowl cut was dyed a yellowish blond down the middle that gave him an unprofessional, demon-vessel vibe. "Better be an angel in there," he sighed, looking to Cas for confirmation when the unconscious Asian didn't budge. The blue-eyed angel stared at the figure for a moment before trying to prop himself up on his elbows. Immediately Dean moved to his side to keep him still. "Whoa there, cowboy," he muttered, taking in Castiel's annoyance at the address with a frown of his own.

"Camael," Cas coughed, ignoring the brunette hovering protectively beside him, "you found your new vessel?"

The moment his voice sounded, the youth's right hand twitched, and seconds later the angel burst into consciousness by leaping up, elbowing the closest person (Dean) in the face and looking around groggily. "What the hell?" Dean growled, having stumbled back at the impact. Camael merely gave the hunter one of her empty stares in return, narrowing her (his?) amber eyes in confusion. Somehow the male vessel accommodated the idea of Camael better when he thought of it as a she, despite the innate lack of gender-awareness the angel displayed. "Sorry... I assumed you were one of the demons," she explained before letting her gaze wander over the room judgmentally. Dean watched the hardening of her expression when it landed on the wounded Cas. She looked pissed, actually.

The angel said nothing of Adriel, instead moving to Castiel's side in an instant. "I'll need that," she asserted, a hand out to Sam and eyes on the vial around his neck. "Thank you for retrieving it... and quick thinking at the Hotel." The younger Winchester fumbled with the string necklace, catching the clasp on his hair before managing to hand over the bottled grace, and Dean reminded himself to ask for clarification on the 'Crowley business' later. Cam snapped the narrow end of the container off and the light of the grace subsequently disappeared. He still had a hard time understanding how angels' power was stored in such small containers, but then again human vessels were a stretch too.

Great red shadows flickered behind the angel for a moment before fading into an afterimage, and within a breath she looked completely revitalized from the weary angel who'd been toting them around earlier. One hand on Cas' worse wing, Camael added, "He can be healed immediately. I will need each of you to hold an arm down. It will definitely be painful while healing and if he flails he'll damage himself further."

* * *

Sorry it's been so long. School's been one big paper after another whenever I'm not in class and I've had a bad cold for the last week. Also, the ending may not wrap up for another couple of chapters. I didn't anticipate a few loose ends to be tied. And it looks like I have an additional plotline for the sequel. Some very light Destiel fluff and character development for Camael is coming up.


	19. A 'Feelings Jam'

Cas had turned to face his sister and nodded in understanding, settling into a more relaxed posture and closing his eyes. Dean crossed to one side of the bed, taking up the bottle of aspirin Sam had fetched. "Shouldn't he take these?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at his companions. Sam shrugged and Camael shook her head firmly. As she plucked the melting bag of ice from Cas' back and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, the angel replied, "No. Blood thinners won't be helpful right now. Once his wings are healed the pain will cease as well." The shorter angel carefully peeled Cas' trenchcoat away from his wings, tossing the bloody, ripped mass on the floor. When Dean glared at her for disregarding the garment's importance to Cas, she sighed and chucked the bundle in his direction. As he caught it the coat became whole again, though it was missing a button, and he set it aside on the table. Cas would wear it when his wings disappeared.

In the silence that followed, Dean found himself holding Castiel's left arm down at the shoulder and just below the elbow. He worried that the angel would start flapping his wings or kicking if pain really caused him to flail, but Cas wasn't reacting to his sister's light grip on his worse-for-wear wing as she examined it and muttered something under her breath. Sam was in place across from Dean, pinning one arm at the wrist and holding down a leg since Camael was taking up the spot at the angel's right shoulder.

The hunter focused his attention on Cas' face for a moment; he was breathing and no pain was visible in his expression. He wondered how falsified the peaceful countenance was. A blue-white glow settled over the angel's wings and Dean found himself watching bone fragments reconnect and seal together with enraptured unease. Before the light encompassing the wings grew to blinding, he could swear he'd seen the pearly glint of bone forming where there had been none moments before. His stomach churned and he tightened his grip on the angel when he could no longer see him for the light.

For a minute or so Dean could only squint his eyes tightly and keep his hold on Cas' arm as it jerked involuntarily. He took a deep breath and let one of his hands curl around Cas' firmly, reassuring the angel that he was there to help. He had been sure of his survival, but the feverish spasms weren't the best of signs. And what was the success rate on wing healing even if it didn't kill him? If Cas couldn't fly again because of this it would be on Dean. _He knew that if he'd been fast enough, he could've gotten to Castiel before Adriel broke his wings._ Words of encouragement couldn't hurt, especially in the form of a prayer.

"Can you hear me, Cas? This prayer's more of a personal request." he muttered, "Just heal up and I'll do whatever it takes to make up for not being able to protect you." _He knew that if he'd paid attention and made Cas wear his seatbelt, they could've put up a fight against Cole._ "You want burgers or pb &j? I'll make as many as you can eat... and you can have a beehive here if you want. I don't care if it turns out like last time." _He knew that if he'd let Sam drive instead of flipping his weighted hustling coin to avoid Camael duty, his brother would've been cautious on the road and could have avoided the collision._

"You know, you still have to pick out a room so you can stay in the bunker full time; I'll help you with paint, or posters or whatever you want." _He knew more than anything that if he'd just let Cas return to heaven without calling him back like a helpless brat every time he tried to take off, the angel would have been spared years of undeserved pain._ "Or y'know, so you can head back upstairs and be a leader instead of corralling our sorry asses all the time," he finished morosely. He knew Cas deserved better.

Cas made a sound then, a grumbled whine of, "Heaven," and Dean tried to swallow his disappointment. Of course he'd want to return home and do what he was made to. At the end of the day he was an angel of the lord and he had a mission. Dean was stupid for hoping he'd want anything else after everything he'd put the guy through. "You belong where you want to be," he mumbled. Loosening his grip on the angel's arm and releasing his hand as the blinding white assaulting his sight faded, he blinked open his eyes and let them dart frantically over his friend's form.

His wings were whole and unmarred by wounds or scars, and there was no longer blood smeared over them, but handfuls of blue-black feathers were still missing, leaving sporadic gaps across the surface. "Um, we can't stick his feathers back on, can we?" Dean asked hollowly. He wasn't holding out hope now that they'd already gotten this far. They looked pretty damn good regardless, but if Cas had to molt or something to replace the missing flight feathers he didn't think he could stand the wait to find out if the angel could fly again.

"No, he'll be regrowing them overnight, and then we can phase the wings back into the ethereal plane," Camael explained, pulling her hands away from the reformed structure of her brother's wings. "Now that he can access his grace without it rushing to numb the damaged areas, he can take care of that part on his own, and painlessly I might add." The angel eyed Dean, continuing to discourage the use of manmade painkillers.

A beat later she continued, "I must thank you two for doing all that you have; while I was adjusting to this vessel I happened to look over your lives, and I must say I was impressed. Some of our superiors would say that you destroyed Castiel. And I know I believed the same." Camael reclined in the wooden chair beside the bed and spoke without raising her eyes from the semi-conscious Castiel, "It's true that you ended his existence as heaven's brightest soldier, but with your influence he has become a much... stronger person. I may never see things the way you three do, but I will admit that it seems more and more to be humans who are the noble creatures of our father's creation, and angels who have something to learn."

The amber-eyed angel sighed and ran a hand through the blonde segment of her newly-acquired hair, finally making eye contact with Dean as she did so. This time there was relief and confusion in her gaze, and it sort of weirded him out. He'd thought getting back that chunk of her grace would cancel out whatever doubts Camael had encountered over her time with team free will. The hunter wondered if all angels could be a little more human if they stopped to think about things. Just as he was considering offering a sort of alliance she stated flatly, "But if you cause Castiel to die I will have to end your existence..."

"Camael," Cas groaned, pushing himself up on his hands and knees before scooting clumsily into a hunched sitting position. Dean prepared for Cas' reply that there would 'be no need for such action' or a warning that the Winchesters were off-limits, inching closer to help his friend sit up. Instead the angel sighed, "We- I- had to kill Adriel." He watched Camael, trying to gauge her response. The gung-ho hitman had to be pleased with the news, but she seemed as grim as usual. "I apologize for not being there to take care of it," she replied softly, "and I apologize that our kin continue to waste their lives on self-interest and hatred. You shouldn't have to keep doing this." Castiel smiled then, something Dean hadn't expected in the least, and he watched the angel in concern until he said mildly, "It's the life I've chosen as a hunter... And if you really feel that way, you're starting to see emotion again. Perhaps you could continue to come here and learn a little more... off the record, of course."

Camael furrowed her brow at Cas as she responded, "I could lose my job and be cutoff from heaven for such a thing... but for some reason I would like to do it anyway." She smiled impulsively, the expression strange and uncomfortable on the face of her vessel, before covering it up with a hand. "Castiel," she continued, having tamed her grin down to her usual expression of apathy, "I must discuss something with Samuel, but I will return to check on your wings before I leave. You and Dean should clear up any _misunderstandings_." Before she hauled Sam off by an arm, the angel stared Dean down flatly, and he got the feeling she was angry with him for saying something stupid and was giving him a single chance to correct the mistake.

Once the others were gone, Dean swallowed his pride and turned to Cas, mouth open to apologize for whatever he'd said while a hundred possible faux pas ran through his head. Shit... Camael was going to smite him if he didn't acknowledge his screwup. "Uh... so Cas, I-" The angel interrupted softly, blue eyes warm with something like regret, "-Dean... What I was trying to say before was that heaven doesn't need me. You heard what I told Adriel earlier. I have no intentions of returning to life in heaven- I've chosen to be a hunter and you are my family. Yes, I may check in with my brothers and take on the duties of an angel again, but my place is on earth... hunting with Sam, and yourself, and doing the best I can as an angel and a man." He chuckled awkwardly, adding, "Do you really think I want to leave? For the love of my Father, Dean, you two just told me that you need me and..."

Cas let out his breath and Dean noted that his face looked flushed. "Maybe you should lie down Cas, you haven't exactly had a day off," he suggested, sitting tentatively on the edge of his bed. The angel shook his head sternly and Dean backed off, raising his hands in treatise as Cas explained firmly, "I've chosen earth over heaven and humanity over angels many times, Dean, and I'll continue to do so. I'm here because I choose to be, and nothing you could have said to me would change that. I know you blame yourself for what happened, but I would be here at this moment and the outcome would be the same regardless of your actions over the past few days, because I am much more willful than you, Dean, and I will always make my own choice. I come when you ask it of me because I feel you deserve any help I can give, and that will never change, no matter how long I am parted from heaven or what we become in the future." The speech had disassembled Dean's assumptions and fears, leaving him with the hope at the bottom of Pandora's box. He and Cas and Sam could stay together and hunt. Of course he wanted more out of life, but he'd never been sure that he could even have that for long without someone leaving, or dying, or going darkside.

Cas was smiling despite the melancholy look in his eyes, and he took down whatever vestige of no-nonsense insensitivity Dean had left as he continued, "When you first met me, Dean, I told you that good things happen and you didn't believe me. Since then I've been trying to prove to you that not only will you have people beside you, but also that you deserve their company. Even if I didn't owe you the world after all you've done for me, I would stay because I want to and because you deserve to have someone here for you." Dean dug his nails into his palm, holding back tears of relief and gratefulness, and the raw fear of years of uncertainty washed away in the glow of the truth; Cas would stay, not on obligation, or assignment but because he wanted to...

With that said the angel cleared his throat and scooted forward, stone-faced and holding out his arms demandingly. Dean raised an eyebrow in inquiry and Cas frowned, replying matter-of-factly, "I believe it is customary to hug following an outpouring of support and feelings?" The hunter smiled brokenly and wrapped his arms firmly around the angel's shoulders, careful to keep the grip above his wings. "Yeah, it is..." The embrace was a bit too tight, but he worried that if he pulled away Cas would notice the warm tears beginning to escape the stranglehold he usually kept on his emotions. He gripped the angel not because he thought he would disappear in a moment, but because he finally knew that he would still be there to hold on to. He knew he could hold on without waiting for him to be ripped away.

"Goddammit Cas," he sighed as the angel's arms looped around him loosely in turn, "I know I've done a lot of stupid things, and you won't be able to convince me that it's not my fault I've screwed so many things up. But it means everything to me that you're stubborn enough to stay when there are better options out there." Dean patted Cas' back with one hand, using the motion to cover how he was wiping his eyes with the other. He'd be damned if he was going to literally cry on the guy's shoulder, chick-flick moment or not.

When he finally released Castiel from the crushing hug, he found himself looking into watery blue eyes. "Hey, did I hurt your wing?" he sputtered, a hand on the angel's shoulder frantically before he could respond. "No Dean, you didn't," Cas sighed, shaking his head, "I just thought... that perhaps you might tell me the right thing to do would be to return to heaven. Knowing that I can stay is- a relief, to say the least." Dean felt a pang of stabbing guilt. He knew it was his fault that Cas thought he might not be welcome to stay. He'd turned his friend away for stupid reasons, and sometimes for no reason other than his own pride. "Yeah, well, you're part of this family, so the bunker is your home too," he clarified, standing and ruffling Cas' hair because the poor guy looked like a lost puppy when he actually got emotional, "and on that note I'm gonna go make a family dinner that doesn't come out of a damn box, 'cause that demon travel and roadtrip food isn't settling too well." He was ready to make his escape, for once not pissed at the humanity his angel was showing but still unsure how to deal with it.

After he turned away, Dean added half-jokingly, "Just uh, don't tell Sam about this whole talk. He'll want us to sit down at Sunday dinner and have weekly feelings jams if he gets wind of it."

"Wouldn't it be easier to be open with your emotions and avoid misinterpretation and self-destructive behavior?" Cas asked cluelessly as Dean headed out the door toward the kitchen. When he turned back the angel had that birdlike head-tilt and furrowed brow going.

"Yeah Cas, it would, but when have I ever taken the easy road?"


	20. Friggin' Demons (and Angels)

Sam realized as he was being herded along out the door that Camael was trying to give Dean time to talk to Cas alone. Whether she actually had something to discuss with him, he had no idea. That meant he'd probably have to initiate conversation if he didn't want to sit in silence. "So... you're a guy now," he observed awkwardly as the angel plunked into a seat at the war room map table.

Camael raised an eyebrow before looking down at her vessel as though she hadn't noticed its gender. "Usually I prefer female vessels due to size. Much easier to maneuver and a bit less noticeable," she sighed, "but this one is smaller, so it's a similar balance. Honestly I don't think genitalia matter as I have no intention of creating offspring, and angels are not gendered beings, but I suppose if it's simpler, for grammar's sake you could choose a gender to consider me."

Sam's brow furrowed in perplexed thought. "Um, I think I'll stick to seeing you as a woman," he admitted, "since that's what your other vessels have been since we met." The angel shrugged in response before appearing to study Sam's face, and the hunter fidgeted under her stare. He hoped she wasn't taking another look at his memories. "You don't seem like a hunter," she muttered, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "I mean, it's obvious from your past experiences that you're quite efficient at the work, but seeing you outside of the field you look like a bit of a-"

"Civilian?" Sam hazarded as Camael squinted and finished, "-nerd." He let out a chuckle at the angel's use of the term. "Well we're not all trying to be Batman," he explained. While Camael stared at him flatly, apparently not getting the reference, the hunter raised an eyebrow, asking, "You have seen Batman, right?" The angel nodded, but argued as though it were a question of fact, "Batman is only successful through sheer luck and silly gadgets. And he endangers the life of a high schooler on a regular basis and keeps a volatile tech lab under his house. Why would anyone try to be that?"

Sam smiled and shook his head, replying, "Adam West's Batman was a bit... caricatured to say the least. I just meant that some hunters, like Dean, feel like the life needs an action hero touch to keep them sane. I'm more of a, 'read up on the lore and get my monsters straight so there aren't surprises,' sort of hunter."

"You're careful, when you're not being a self-sacrificing imbecile," Camael summarized with another out-of-place smile, "It seems to be the way of the world." She stretched her legs out and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling, adding, "The way things have always been- that's how we're told they should be. 'Why do anything different when we know this works ninety percent of the time?' my brothers would say. If someone had asked me two days ago if I wanted to experience human emotions, I would have threatened to smite them. It is against my training to acknowledge such things."

Sam found himself wanting to argue for the advantage of emotion. Heaven knew it had come into play time and time again. "When you refuse to acknowledge any benefit to knowing what loss, or excitement, or contentment feel like, you close the door on a lot of experiences. I know hunters don't have the best record on domestic success, but the friendships and relationships I've had have kept me sane, and knowing the difference between good and bad doesn't end at actions. Sometimes we've been able to spare creatures and people because we can empathize."

"I understand that knowledge is fact, but also that some things take pathos to truly understand. That is why I'm going to take Castiel up on the teachings of emotion despite my better judgement." Camael's expression was curious as she locked eyes with the hunter, and Sam tried not to stare at the distracting scar across her cheek as she muttered, "I will be coming to Castiel for these... lessons, but if you have useful input feel free to contribute it. Also be aware that they must remain secret if I am to continue my work- I may be an archangel, but I am no more exempt than a reaper from the consequences if my superiors should believe my judgement is compromised."

Sam grimaced at the thought that Camael was taking a sizable risk for the sake of a Winchester idea. She seemed to be a sturdy sort of angel and would probably cause more damage to her captors than herself if some higher ups decided to try and reprogram her thoughts, but... "If you're sure," he sighed simply, knowing that an argument would consist of her ignoring his protests.

The archangel only nodded, letting her eyes rake across the bunker walls until they landed once again on the hunter. Her frown was severe and Sam wondered if she was going to take back her words. Instead the half-blonde angel sighed and squinted at him before shaking her head and muttering, "I'll never understand you Winchesters. You're quite strange even for humans. But it's admirable."

"Thank you?"

Sam intended to ask Camael more about her work, but his train of thought was derailed by the sound of his cellphone chiming the theme from The Exorcist. He furrowed his brow and fished the cell from his jacket pocket, sure that he hadn't set the ringer to that song. A media message alert flashed on the screen from a contact listed as His Highness, and the hunter rolled his eyes. He did wonder when Crowley had gotten ahold of his phone, but decided to save the annoyed inquiry for after he'd addressed the message. Last time he'd seen the demon, he'd seemed rather set on tormenting him and stealing a book that hadn't turned out to be around, so Sam wasn't holding out for a friendly hello.

He opened the message to a picture of a busted up wooden floor and wall stained with blood. Okay... He had no idea what it was supposed to be. Hellhound? Murder scene? Sam scrolled down to the text portion of the message, which only read in tacky all-caps, _'YOU BOLLOCKS'ED IT UP YOU THREE.'_ They'd messed up a floor? He wondered if Crowley was a bit out of it from being knocked out with a bedpost and exorcised, and texted back a perplexed, _'What am I supposed to be looking at?'_

 _'Exactly,'_ came the reply from Crowley, _'you don't look at all when you're in a hurry, do you?'_

Sam wanted to tug on his hair in aggravation but Camael was already looking at him like he was unstable as he furiously messaged the king of hell, _'Stop being cryptic.'_ Though... the floor was familiar- maybe he was referring to the book at the hotel. It looked like the splintered floorboards that had held them captive while Adriel tried to play his game earlier. Come to think of it, he remembered kneeling beside that area when he'd taken the vial of grace from Adriel's neck... _'Where's the body?'_ he questioned, concerned that Crowley was going to use the dead angel somehow.

Crowley didn't answer for three minutes, and in that time Sam had managed to pace enough times for Camael to seize him by the shoulders and force him to sit. She too read over the messages, though she hadn't been there when everything had happened. "I'll take a look," the archangel offered, disappearing in an instant. Seconds later his phone cranked out the ringtone he'd been waiting for and he clicked into his inbox hurriedly to read, _'Whatever happened to checking a pulse? No wing marks and no body means no dead angel.'_

No dead angel- that meant Adriel was alive... Dean was going to be so pissed.

* * *

And this is where we wrap up All Too Human~ Just had to get Sam's conversation in there so you know how things will be going for Team Free Will. I'll be doing some work on the sequel, but my second story is going to be a Criminal Minds fic and the sequel may come after that or after/during a SPN Destiel drabble series.


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